Soldiertale
by Noilascael
Summary: War. That was all Frisk knew, all that existed. And Humanity was losing to the alien races of the Authority. One final, desperate attack ends with Lt. Junior Grade Frisk-STF15 and Lt. Chara-STF16 encountering a previously forgotten race underground and situations they'd never dreamed of. How will monsters react to fully-armored super soldiers of Humanity? Military sci-fi story. V/L
1. Chapter 1 - Tip of the Spear

It's me again, I wrote this too. Something different I wanted to try, don't know if it'll really work but you know whatevs. Chapters 1 and 2 are basically a prologue, the real of it will kick in starting more with Chapter 3. Hope whoever reads this enjoys it!

 _Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity. _

_-"_ **The Second Coming," W.B. Yeats**

Chapter 1 – Tip of the Spear

The sky was bleeding.

That was the only way that she could describe it, looking out past the hatch on the back of the dropship as the last of the troopers piled on-board. She could see the hopelessness in their eyes, and for the rare few that had managed to keep their helmets intact through the last 24 hours, she could see the exhaustion set into the slump of their shoulders and the slack fingers barely gripping scarred rifles. They could doubtless see it in her, even through the mirrored blue visor that masked her eyes and young face. Almost twelve years old, already a veteran. Lieutenant Junior Grade Frisk-STF15, Special Weapons Group, Sovereign Task Force, Team Three. A child soldier since the day she was grown, bred and raised for war.

The Commander had wanted only commissioned officers in the task force, give them the option to modify mission parameters as needed, which was how the girl that came out of a test tube for the purposes of special weapons programs found herself leading men and women into battle. They were all hardened, everyone who had managed to stay alive this long. They'd all lost something or someone. There were no such things as noncombatants against the aliens, the Authority. They'd already killed trillions, scorched entire planets in their single-minded mission to exterminate every last living human being. ISAF, the Interstellar States Allied Forces, had once spanned across the galaxy, massive fleets guarding untold star systems. Now, there was only Earth. Only them. Why the war started, she couldn't say. But it was everything she knew. There was no disrespect among survivors, no such thing as "too young" or "too green." Only alive and dead, and they were alive.

It was still dark, not quite early enough for morning light to begin making its way up over the horizon, yet the clouds were alight with carmine flashes that rumbled in the near-distance. They weren't rain clouds in the air, but rather a dense canopy of acrid, tarry smoke, covering the night and blocking any light from the moon or stars. Only the scarlet lightning that bore down and gouged out great holes in rock and steel and flesh and bone illuminated the sky.

Frisk gave the last trooper aboard a slight pat on the shoulder, nodding to him as he took a deep breath and responded with a "ma'am." It had been a long day, but they'd made it, everyone that was here. It couldn't be called a victory, not with the city burning in the distance, not with the glassed bodies and downed shuttles, but they'd delayed the coming storm for a few precious hours, and to EASTCOM that was enough. Lives for minutes, that was the going rate. Could be worse.

EASTCOM, short for East Coast Command, was officially in charge of all that remained of humanity ever since the Collapse, those nightmarish days when the entire North American West Coast defensive line and the European front had fallen in an instant, the Authority's lightning strike taking every last one of them by surprise. Oceanica had already gone dark, alongside everything south of Israel and most of South America. It had taken everything that they'd had, along with the ten million lives of the 4121st and 1192nd Airborne, the First, Third, and Twelfth Armies, the 12th and 383rd Bomber Wings, the _Entreaty,_ the _Andal,_ and the entirety of the _Redoubt_ carrier group, but they'd stymied the Authority rampage across the central United States . . . but not until they'd annihilated WESTCOM, CENTCOM, and every settlement and military installation from California to Illinois. It was only by sheer luck that Special Operations Command had relocated to EASTCOM in time, and it was through a massive coordinated effort that the Tannhauser Line had been established as a defensive perimeter, extending to the eastern seaboard that was already under siege.

It wouldn't hold for long. This was their final hope: Operation Brionac. All available assets striking as hard as possible at the blockade over the East Coast, punching through and linking up with the beleaguered European forces still fighting. She could still hear Commander Winter's words in her ear, the quiet desperation in his voice.

"All available operators: if you're receiving, you're what we've got left. You're the tip of the spear. Counteroffensive operations are underway across the countryside; rally with any assets and punch through that battle cluster, no matter the cost. If we let them divide us up here, it's all over. Godspeed and good hunting. Sovereign Actual, out."

That had been yesterday. They'd been fighting ever since, and were preparing to get back on the move once more, pushing ever onward. They were just waiting for one last soldier to make it back to the dropship.

"Ho, partner," came a voice as an armored girl came around from the shelled-out ruins of what was once a skyscraper. Her visor was a thin slit of crimson, and her long rifle was propped over her shoulder, bayonet slick with dark-blue blood.

"Chara!" Frisk ran over, taking off her helmet as the other girl removed hers, the two greeting face-to-face. They looked nearly identical, wispy brown hair mussed over pale skin. The only major difference to note were the eyes and how they held themselves: Frisk had wide, bright eyes of a shining hazel, while Chara's eyes were sharp and piercing-red as her visor. Young faces, aged by war and hardship. Chara was overall leaner, her hawkish eyes always with an ill glint, and she walked with a predatory confidence that matched her role as designated marksman and sharpshooter. Frisk, on the other hand, was softer, her edges rounded down, and despite her arsenal and her skill would often walk with trepidation amongst the others when the battle had subsided. They were twins, two halves of a greater whole, though each would call the other the better half. They were each others anchors, what enabled them to keep going in this broken world. The only fireteam to earn the title of "hyper-lethal." Sisters that trusted each other to the very end, would defend each other to the very end. The last two remaining members of Team Three, scarred but unbroken.

They matched not just in physique and appearance, but in armor styling as well, at least to a degree; since camouflage was all but useless against the Authority, SOCOM authorized all Tier One operators free customization of their gear, for morale purposes. That was the official reason. The real reason was that they couldn't do a damn thing to stop them from painting their gear; what were they gonna do, give them an even more suicidal mission? Take them out of combat? Unlikely.

Frisk's combat suit was sleek and svelte, a rich blue with stripes of purple that raced across the chest and down the legs, while Chara's was much more angular and jagged, olive green criss-crossed with streaks of yellow. They were both covered in armaments: black durasteel knives holstered on the collarbone, sidearms at the hip, smokes and flares, frags and incendiaries, in-built cannons and heavy arms, thrusters at the joints. Titan suits, well beyond the standard issue of the troopers; but then, Frisk and Chara were well beyond troopers. As Sovereign Task Force operators, they were Tier One; the best of the best of the best. Genetically augmented, conditioned to never stop fighting, trained to win no matter the foe. Born in blood and bred in war. Or at least, that was the mantra. The best of the best of the best; no line they couldn't cross, no foe they couldn't kill. Whatever means, whatever it took. They got the job done. No sortie too dangerous, no target out of reach.

No such thing as "too costly."

"You're okay!" Frisk holstered her battle rifle on her back, grabbing Chara's outstretched arm and pulling herself in to embrace her better self.

"Of course," Chara smirked, patting Frisk on the back with a metallic clank. "You expected anything less?" Frisk answered with a grin and a shake of the head. Chara was the one constant in the world.

She hooked her arm around Frisk, pulling her along with her as she headed towards the dropship, cocky swagger in full effect.

"You want to do the honors, partner?" Chara asked, her eyebrows raised as she stowed her helmet in the nook of her back and tapped at Frisk's knife. Again, Frisk shook her head; she'd let Chara handle that. That was a bit . . . morbid for her. Frisk was glad that Chara was all right, glad to be alive herself, and that was enough. But Chara, it felt like she reveled in the carnage sometimes. To emphasize the thought, Chara shrugged her shoulders and pulled her own knife out, carving another tally onto her armor. Most of the scratches weren't battle damage, but rather kill tallies; Chara kept track of every confirmed kill, numbering well into the thousands by this point, who even knew about the unconfirmed.

"Suit yourself," Chara sheathed the knife, puffing the paint dust off and admiring the latest line. "You all right?"

" . . . yeah," Frisk replied, her voice whisper-soft. She'd always been quiet, and even around Chara, she found it hard to express herself in words . . .

"Hey," Chara turned Frisk around to face her. "Be honest."

. . . but then, Chara could see through the silence. She understood Frisk, and Frisk understood her. Frisk tightened her grip on Chara's hand, their fingers interwoven.

" . . . I was worried."

"Have some faith," Chara knocked her on the shoulder, soft. "No way some scum's gonna get me. I'm never leaving you. Never."

Frisk smiled, finding comfort and reassurance in Chara's confidence, in the wolfish grin that pulled at her red eyes, and nodded in reply.

"Now, let's get onboard and have a seat and a bite, yeah? My legs are killing me," Chara led them to the ship, still hand-in-hand.

"Lieutenant!" An older sergeant rose as they approached, saluting. Chara returned his salute and waved the rest off, striding towards the open hatch. As a full lieutenant, Chara was the commanding officer; she also seemed to like the respect, as opposed to Frisk who really preferred for the others to not salute at her.

"Michaelson. Glad to see you made it," Chara replied, ignoring his outstretched hand and climbing in on her own. She reached out to help Frisk up, though, which Frisk gladly accepted.

"We're made tough, ma'am," Sergreant Major Michaelson cracked a wry grin. His weathered face was covered in dust and mud, the soot light on his dark skin, and his mustache looked like it hadn't been maintained in weeks. Even through the war, he'd managed to keep a spark of life in his grey eyes. "You bagged the firelord?"

"Bagged, tagged, and fragged 'em," Chara threw out a thumbs-down on the last part for emphasis. A resigned chorus of "oorah" rang out from the weary soldiers, still enough fight left in them to celebrate the termination of one of the Authority's aether prophets. "We're moving out with the armada. Full-scale sortie. Package is highest priority. You hear that, up there? Try not to fly into any of our own." Chara walked up and banged on the pilot's door once, and got a knock in reply. She heard. Warrant Officer Denna, callsign Super Six-One, was an amazing pilot; she'd been with them for almost a year now, miraculously enough. Truthfully, Frisk kind of looked up to her . . . she always had this cool look on her face, like nothing touched her. She was like Chara in that respect.

"All right, troopers, rest up while you can. Alberts, Walker, you're on the side guns. Holloway, you've got the tail. We'll rotate every two hours," Michaelson barked out, taking control of the squad as Chara and Frisk strapped themselves in to the last two seats nearest the hatch.

"We've got roughly six hours until we hit the zero barrier," Chara called out as she crossed her arms and placed her sniper rifle on her lap, barrel facing the hatch.

"Then we rock and roll and steal the show," Walker clapped his hands as he stuffed an especially large plug of snuff into his mouth, his cheek bulging with the chewing tobacco. He slapped himself on the cheeks, knocked his helmet, then settled his hands on the port-side turret's controls.

"Do or die," Chara nodded as she propped her head back against the wall of the dropship, olive-drab Titanium-E. Toughest alloy that Humanity could manufacture . . . still didn't do much against the kind of firepower being thrown around in this war. Outside, they could hear the whir of the Kestrel's twin VTOL engines coming to life, increasing in volume as the interior lights dimmed to black, only the constant, dim carmine of the guidance lights on the floor and ceiling illuminating the cabin. "You should get some rest, Frisk. No offense, but you look like shit."

Frisk let out a snort of amusement, a small grin playing out on her face. She couldn't see Chara through her helmet, but she was sure the other girl was smiling as well. "I'm fine. You get some sleep."

"No argument from me, but you'd better catch some shut-eye yourself before we get there. That's an order."

"Yes ma'am," Frisk kept her grin as she answered, though her smile quickly faded. The roar of the engines hit their crescendo as they came fully alight, lifting the bird of war and all its occupants into the air. Frisk's stomach lurched slightly as the Kestrel came off the ground; it was smooth, or at least as smooth as these things got, but she always preferred to keep her feet on the ground.

She looked around, at the men and women either settling themselves into their seats for a much-needed nap, or the ones manning the guns with a grim resolve. At the ones that bowed their heads and prayed to whatever higher power they believed in, and at the ones with the far-off look in their eyes that knew that what lay behind their eyelids wouldn't be rest. They were heading straight into the den . . . no, that wasn't an apt comparison. They were shoving their heads into the monster's mouth and trying to bite their way through its stomach. How many of them would make it through this? Her stomach lurched at the thought.

Frisk glanced out the transparent-steel window, saw the green smoke pouring out from every crack in the city as every other living human being ascended, a mix of air cavalry, gunships, dropships, and attack helos; higher up, she saw the contrails of the superiority fighters escorting the heavy bombers, and even higher above them, up in orbit, the last remnants of the Sol Defense Fleet prepared for the push. She flicked through some of the comm channels, listening to the chatter as everyone coordinated and began to move out. They'd not rallied this much manpower since before the Collapse. One final push, one last-ditch effort. No one needed to say what would happen if it didn't work. It had to work.

Frisk popped off her helmet, ran a hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. She didn't want tomorrow to come. But, whatever happened, she wouldn't let anything happen to Chara. No matter what.

"Hey. Lieutenant," a voice called out to her, barely audible, and Frisk rose her head to see Corporal Dana Holloway looking over at her, dirty blonde hair peeking out from under her helmet and propped up dust goggles. She tapped at the side of her helmet, over her ear; she wanted to talk. Frisk put her helmet back on with a snap, flipped open the visor, and opened a direct channel to Holloway.

"Just . . . Frisk, please," she replied, now able to communicate with the tail gunner over the roar of the BEF. Her voice was still quiet, even amplified through her helmet's comms system. She didn't like being referred to by rank; something about it was off-putting to her.

"Frisk, then. Just wanted to talk, if that's all right."

"Sure," Frisk answered, though she wasn't really that talkative, so she wasn't sure if she'd be a great conversation partner.

Holloway was much older than Frisk, 46 to be exact, though not the oldest soldier in the squad (that was the Sergeant Major). She was kind of the communal helping hand, always the one that had an extra sock or string to mend a hole, or an extra incendiary grenade when a bug hole needed popped. Always seemed to have a cigarette even when no one else had any (Neither Frisk nor Chara smoked; against Special Weapons Group code), and always had a light. Her face was mired with wrinkles and scars, but there was a cheekiness to her face, to her blue eyes and nose that hooked just the slightest bit at the end, leading some to call her "Witch." She was well-built, strong and solid, though not as tall as Walker, and had on the same urban camo armor plating over fatigues that the rest of the troopers had; not powered armor like Frisk and Chara, but rugged and dependable nonetheless. She'd painted a pine tree on the side of her helmet, but had never said why.

"I realize this is pretty tasteless, especially given, well," she gestured towards Frisk, "but I just feel like I have to get it out, you know? Before tomorrow."

Frisk nodded, not sure where she was going with it, and let her continue.

"I had a daughter." Oh. _Oh._ There was an unspoken rule around them; no one talked about the lost. If Holloway was bringing this up . . .

"She'd be about your age now, actually. A bit older. Tomorrow she'd have been thirteen. Hell of a birthday, eh?" she chuckled. "I know I shouldn't have had her. Bring her up in this. But . . . I needed something more to live for. You know?"

"A future," Frisk bit the inside of her cheek. "Hope."

"Yeah. Bring something good into this world. I thought we'd, you know. Win. Can't believe it's like this now."

That hung in the air, only the crackle of radio silence filling the gap. Until Frisk cut through the silence.

" . . . I'm sorry, Dana."

Holloway swallowed hard at that, nodded her head. Frisk could see the thanks in her eyes even if she couldn't say it right now.

" . . . we're gonna get through this, Frisk. We're gonna survive. I'll watch your back until the very end. Let's hit them so hard they regret ever coming here."

"I don't want anyone else to die either," Frisk replied, locking eyes with the Corporal. "We'll make it."

*Authority – Conglomeration of alien races on a war of extermination against Humanity.

*ISAF – Interstellar States Allied Forces. Human military and government during the war with the Authority.

*BEF – Brionac Expeditionary Force


	2. Chapter 2 - Behold, a Pale Horse

_Surely some revelation is at hand;  
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi  
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? _

**-"The Second Coming," W.B. Yeats**

Chapter 2 – Behold, a Pale Horse

A tree blossomed in front of her, yellow flowers that shone with a prismatic sparkle when the light from above hit them. Frisk found herself walking towards the tree, fingers reaching out to touch one of the petals, when they suddenly burst from the tree, surrounding her in a cloud that seemed to hang in the air. She stepped in to take a closer look at the petals, noticing strangely that she did not have her helmet on; she paid it little mind. Inside the petals, she saw people and beings she'd never seen before. She saw herself, wearing some kind of blue . . . dress? She'd never even seen a dress, only knew of them from Holloway. She saw Chara, pulling her into a room. She saw a hundred different versions of them, didn't understand or recognize any of them. The petals began gathering, shifting and joining, swirling around her, and the light above went out, plunging her into darkness.

She took a step back, feeling the petals around her, feeling them rush past, slice into her armor, rip into her exposed face, felt the cold chill . . .

Her weapon was in her hands and she was snarling through clenched teeth, a hiss escaping as she opened fire, the flashes of her MB55 battle rifle lighting the room up in a pulsing strobe, only streaks of fire poured from the muzzle, alighting the petals and the tree, until everything was flame and heat around her, crackling and roaring –

An earth-shattering staccato of cracks suddenly woke her from the strange dream, her eyes snapping open in an instant under her helmet, hand instinctively snatching at her rifle. The entire dropship rumbled like an earthquake, and it took only a glance outside to see why: concussive blasts of thick, black smoke had erupted all around not just them, but the entire Expeditionary Force, ugly rods of a mustard yellow tearing through a neighboring Kestrel dropship and sending it smoking down into the landscape below.

"Flak, flak, flak!" She heard Michaelson scream out over the din, grabbing hold of a nearby rail as the dropship rattled again. The Authority must have known they were coming, dug in deep below, and were now raising all hell with a carpet of terror flak. The armada immediately began returning fire, heavy rounds and high explosives careening down towards the ground.

"Gunners, eyes up! There's gonna be more incoming!" Chara shouted out, already behind Walker and pointing up at the cloud cover. Authority fighter craft could maneuver in the flak in relative safety, meaning they'd be joining the fight likely any second.

"Up high, up high, here they come!" Holloway bellowed, aiming the tail gun up and opening fire, an automatic stream of airburst rounds that tore into the V-shaped Sudra fighters and their heavier Vaishya cousins. Explosions dotted the sky, parts and bodies falling to the earth below, and all Frisk could do was watch and hope they didn't get hit.

"Mobius One, Mobius One, this is Sovereign Three-Sixteen, need fast movers on my position, get these bastards off of us!" Chara broadcast to their dedicated fighter cover, her voice intense yet calm and professional even in the midst of the chaos.

"On the way, Three-Sixteen, skies are crawling."

The ISAF Doolittle fighters streaked overhead, Pathfinder missiles racing out to intercept more of the Authority aircraft, as more and more forces from both sides threw themselves into the fight, until with a start Frisk realized that this was more than just an ambush by an Authority interdiction-force. Up in orbit, she could see flashes of light, as the Second Fleet began to engage an Authority cluster.

The hatch to the Kestrel was suddenly blown off by a trio of flak shells, the radioactive rods piercing through Holloway and slamming her into the wall with a strained grunt; she would have screamed had the breath not been shot out of her through punctured lungs.

"Holloway!" Frisk ripped off her harness, grabbing the woman before she fell out of the dropship and dragging her towards the cabin. Their only medic, Kinneman, immediately went to work, cursing to himself as he started to rip off Holloway's armor to get at the rods embedded in her chest.

Frisk stepped out of the way, mind flying a hundred miles a second, teeth clenched and fingers bent into claws as the full heat of action began to weigh on her. Her armor reacted to her spiked pulse, feeding more stimulants to generate a sympathetic response engineered to create one outcome: fight. Fight the enemy. No fear, no hesitation. Frisk stormed to the back of the dropship and grabbed the now-empty tail gun, opening fire in Holloway's place and gazing out at the battlefield surrounding her. Kill them all; kill every last one.

"That's the way," Chara growled in approval, hefting her XM889 Gram rifle and resting it on Frisk's shoulder to steady her shots. "You and me, partner."

"To the end," Frisk finished her sentence. Chara began to open fire, the deafening crack of the anti-materiel rifle suppressed enough by Frisk's helmet to keep it from hurting her ears. The crack shot didn't miss a target, picking off alien pilots through polarized canopies one by one.

"Oh shit," one of the cadets, a young private by the name of Aldale, gasped as he held his head in his hands and tucked himself into as tight a ball as he could, shutting himself off from the world around him. "Oh God. End of days, man."

"This is it, troopers!" Sergeant Michaelson roared, tearing off his safety harness and rising to his feet as the entire dropship shook like a thing possessed. "Give it everything you've got!" He braced himself against the armor plating beside Frisk, leveling his rifle against her shoulder as well and chambering a round with a fury matched only by the thunder of the gods around them. He opened fire with a wild cry, teeth glinting from the flash, brass cascading down his armor and mixing with that of Frisk and Chara's.

One by one, some of the other troopers rose out of their seats, grabbing weapons and taking up positions alongside their command staff. Outgoing fire poured out the open hatch, the wrecked hulls of the Authority mixing with the fallen ISAF aircraft, streaming towards the ground behind them as anyone still willing to fight in the beleaguered dropship joined the fray. All around them, the expeditionary forces of Operation Brionac did the same, the entire landscape bombarded with a sudden onslaught of fire from all sides and angles, death in a hundred thousand different sounds and smells and shapes and colors, Humanity's teeth bared in a collective cry of defiance as the entire horizon became the battlefield.

"Want some?!" Walker snarled, directing a stream of the high explosive airburst shells at a pair of the Authority's Sudra fighters diving in for a strafing run, their pulse cannons flashing hot-white. The Kestrel dipped low, avoiding a sudden hailstorm of the radioactive-tipped uranium flak that had detonated overhead, and the pulse lasers streaked past, charging the air around the beams with arcing jets of lightning that raced over the hull of the dropship. Walker's aim was truer, raking the air and space superiority craft and sending them bursting into flames into the mountain range below. "Get some!"

Frisk kept hold of the tail gun's manual controls with a vice grip, the metal groaning in her augmented hands as she kept up the searing staccato of the Mark 129. Her mind was screaming at her, bewilderment and disbelief at the sheer scale of the battle that had unfolded before her eyes outside, encompassing the entire mountain range and beyond. Up in orbit, the Second Fleet was fully committed as well; _this was it,_ she heard herself repeating even as she grit her teeth and kept up the fire. _Everything thrown in here. This is really happening._ Goosebumps crept up her skin, reminding her of Camlann Tor and the Collapse. Death on a mind-numbing scale. _Please, not again._

She couldn't stop shooting; she felt the combat drugs her suit was pumping into her really kick in, amping up her already enhanced aggression and drowning out any last vestiges of her flight response, long since erased through conditioning and augmentation. Only the impact compensation of her armor kept her from being thrown back like a rag doll with every shot of the autocannon, and only her helmet kept her from immediately going deaf. Only her visor kept the fear and frenzy on her face from reaching her comrades; so many of them out there, dying. All she could do was protect this one dropship, take out as many of the aliens as she could, and hope that she could deliver the VOLUSPA weapon on her back all the way to the Authority's hypercarrier fleet berthed over NAS Oceana.

The transcom was manic with transmissions, frenzied pilots and soldiers and sailors all fighting their own personal wars even as some semblance of control was attempted to be brought over this unholy clamor.

" _Break of Dawn,_ this is Sovereign Three-Sixteen, immediate fire support requested on my position, over," Chara barked, adding her voice to the shouting match as she squeezed off another round, the massive self-sharpening smart sabot tearing into one of the thousands of clouds of kamikaze Swarmers and leaving torn husks in its wake. She ejected the empty magazine, slamming a new one in and chambering a round before clicking back to the mic. " _Break of Dawn_ , repeat, Sovereign Three-Sixteen, requesting immediate FPF –"

She was interrupted by the sudden blossoming of a second sun bursting into life in low Earth orbit followed by a pressure shockwave that raked across every aircraft in the armada. Frisk shielded her eyes for a moment before glancing up and seeing scorched chunks of debris and wreckage begin raining down from the atmosphere, burning red streaks of fire in the sky added to the cataclysm around them as the meteors smashed through enemy and ally alike and scattered their ruin on the mountains and into the valleys. The sudden radio silence was chilling, the doubled traffic that followed even more so.

"Jesus Christ, was that the _Dawn?!_ "

"Maintain radio discipline, stop cluttering-"

"The hell's going on up there, where's the damn fleet?!"

" _Break of Dawn_ , come in, repeat, any survivors, respond!"

"I said _stay off the damn channel!"_

"I don't see any pods, _I don't see any-"_

"Hell's bells," Chara muttered, grinding her teeth and biting her lip as she watched the pieces of what was once one of the last two remaining ISAF supercarriers in existence hurtle to the ground below.

"Oh, that's bad news," one of the troopers mumbled. "That's real bad news."

"No shit," Chara snapped back, ducking as another of the needle rounds lodged itself into the steel where her head had just been. This . . . wasn't looking good.

"Sovereign Three-Sixteen, we heard your call. This is _Valley Forge_ , acknowledge," a man's voice crackled loud into their headsets, rough and gravelly. Overhead, as the brtual orbital battle waged on, one of the frigates had followed the dying _Dawn_ down and was already breaching the atmosphere.

 _"Valley Forge,_ damn good to hear your voice," Chara grinned. A break of fortune in this shitstorm? Were they so lucky.

"Coming in weapons hot, Three-Sixteen. FPF, danger close. Recommend you spit out your gum."

"FPF acknowledged, _Valley Forge,_ " Chara responded before relaying the warning to the others over the din of combat.

"FPF-1. Firing."

Suddenly, the gods were hurling hammers down at them as the frigate bombarded the airspace around them, volleys of Arbalest missiles joining with the coordinated fire of dozens of mass drivers and AEGIS turrets unleashing ultra-dense slugs at the rate of thousands a second down at the swarms of Authority fighters and gunships before slamming into the Earth below, scoring even more kills against the countless aliens lurking below, firing up at them with hidden AAA. Frisk watched as the clouds parted and the very rock of the mountains was carved away, massive gashes and craters popping into being under the barrage from the MacArthur-class frigate. She could only keep her eyes on the barrage around her for a moment, however, before another onslaught of the Authority bore down on them and the hundreds of thousands of other gunships, dropships, helos, fighters, bombers, and transport craft of the Brionac Expeditionary Force.

The fighting raged on, until in one moment, everything went horribly wrong. Frisk heard a gasp from the pilot before a fireball engulfed the front of the Kestrel, knocking it to the side and sending Chara tumbling out of the open hatch.

"No!" Frisk cried out, leaping from the tail gun to grab onto Chara's boot, snatching her ankle at the last second and holding onto the stand of the Mark 129, keeping them both from falling. "Chara!"

"Frisk, get the hell back up there-"

"Troopers, hold on, hold on!" Michaelson barked as another explosion rocked the Kestrel, sending more men and women plunging to their deaths below. Frisk could only watch them fall as she strained to lift Chara up, pull her back into the dropship; Chara dangled upside-down from Frisk's hands, struggling to right herself and reach Frisk's hand. She had to stop when an Authority Kshatriya gunship hovered past them, twin cannons spinning up to finish the job. Chara cursed, rifle falling back into her hands and unloaded the magazine into the Kshatriya's side engine, blue flames engulfing its rightmost wing as it began to spiral to the ground below.

Frisk groaned, barely able to hold the combined weight of both her and Chara in their armor, well over 800 lbs between the two of them. Stars began exploding in her vision as she pushed herself even harder, her entire body burning with the effort to pull Chara up and back into the safety of the dropship. If she could just get her in . . .

"Super Six-One, the package is in danger, land this fucking bird!" Chara's voice crackled over the comm. With Frisk in danger, she'd lost most, though not all, of her professional cool. No response. "Super Six-One!"

" . . . losing control, Lieutenant . . . hang on . . ." Warrant Officer Denna sounded bad, real bad, and Frisk feared the worst. On the other hand, the Kestrel was limping – blasted to hell, but still alive, which meant there was a chance –

A trio of Swarmers suicide-charged the bottom of the Kestrel, and the chunk of the hull that the Mark 129 was attached to twisted and squealed before tearing off, sending the last two members of Team Three freefalling towards the mountains below.

Frisk immediately felt her stomach lurch as the ground began rushing up at a sickening speed, and she could only watch as the Kestrel, with everyone else she'd known and grown close to, was bathed in fire and plummeted with them, careening forward with its maintained momentum.

"Chara!" Frisk reached her hand out, trying to grab hold of Chara. It would still be all right. If she could just reach Chara –

"Frisk!" Chara reached back, fingers grasping for hers, but she was falling fast, too fast, she'd been knocked out of her hands by the blast and Frisk couldn't _reach her_. She started to lose strength as the g-forces ripped at her even through her armor, black spots gathering in the sides of her sight, but she kept trying to fight through it, she had to make it to Chara –

As the dark tunnel pressed in on her vision, the freefall overtaking her, the last thing she noticed was her armor tagging the mountain that was fast approaching.

GEOGRAPHIC SITE – MT. EBOTT

ELEVATION – 2,019 METERS ABOVE SEA LEVEL

*AAA = Anti-Aircraft Artillery

*FPF = Final Protective Fire

*NAS Oceana = Naval Air Station Oceana, Virginia

So there's why the first two are a prologue, haha.


	3. Chapter 3 - Across the Rubicon

Pretty big chapter, couldn't really find a stopping point I was happy with so I kept going. Hope people enjoy this and thanks for reading. If you're reading my first story, I'll be updating Phantom Pains within a week or so.

 _But finally, with a sort of passion, as if abandoning calculation and casting himself upon the future, and uttering the phrase with which men usually prelude their plunge into desperate and daring fortunes, "Let the die be cast," he hastened to cross the river . . ._

 **-"The Parallel Lives – The Life of Julius Caesar," Plutarch**

Chapter 3 – Across the Rubicon

Frisk awoke to the whining and flashing of suit alarms, her armor clamoring for her attention following the fall. Or the impact, to be more exact. Various warnings flickered in front of her eyes, covering her face in crimson lettering:

-CATASTROPHIC MISSION FAILURE.

-STATUS OF LOCAL FORCES: UNKNOWN.

-CURRENT LOCATION: UNKNOWN.

-MASSIVE IMPACT CONFIRMED. USER DIAGNOSTIC IN-PROGRESS.

-USER STATUS:

-ALL POWER SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

-INTERNAL WEAPONS SYSTEMS SEMI-OPERATIONAL. VOLUSPA INTACT AND OPERATIONAL. FIMBULVETR MISSILES AT 81%. AUFHASSEN DRIVE REBOOTING. PRIMARY AND SECONDARY THRUSTERS OPERATIONAL.

-TARGETING OPERATIONAL.

-SENSORS OPERATIONAL.

-COMMS ONLINE.

-CONTACT WITH SPECCOM – UNAVAILABLE.

-CONTACT WITH SOVEREIGN ACTUAL – UNAVAILABLE.

-CONTACT WITH SUPER SIX-ONE – UNAVAILABLE -CONTACT WITH GHOSTEYE – UNAVAILABLE.

-CONTACT WITH _BREAK OF DAWN_ – UNAVAILABLE

-CONTACT WITH _VALLEY FORGE_ – UNAVAILABLE

-CONTACT WITH WARSAT NETWORK – UNAVAILABLE.

-USER HEALTH: CONSCIOUSNESS CONFIRMED. MINOR BONE CONTUSIONS ALONG THE UPPER RIBCAGE AND RIGHT FOREARM. MAJOR FRACTURES IN THE FOURTH AND FIFTH LEFT RIBS AND SIXTH AND SEVENTH RIGHT RIBS. MAJOR CONTUSIONS ACROSS THE ABDOMEN AND CHEST. POSSIBLE CONCUSSION WARNING. NO TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY DETECTED. NO MAJOR ORGAN DAMAGE DETECTED. POSSIBLE MINOR ORGAN DAMAGE DETECTED. TORN ACHILLES' TENDON IN THE RIGHT LEG.

-VITALS WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS. ADMINISTERING MEDICAL AID.

-USER START-UP REQUIRED TO EXIT AUXILIARY POWER.

She felt like she'd been used as a sandbag by the Delta guys, but she was alive, and apparently in mostly one piece. Frisk chinned the reboot sequence in her helmet, the suit cycling through its various features before restoring full power and articulation, exiting the defensive armor lock-up. Once her suit was primed, Frisk was able to push herself off of her stomach, taking a shaky knee with a groan; those "contusions" made her stomach feel like pure agony, even as the suit's onboard medical systems pumped her full of medfoam and non-obstructive painkillers. Her ribs were definitely cracked or broken, the sharp, pounding pain a constant, and even as the suit kept her moving, she could feel her leg struggling to keep up. Nothing to do but fight through the pain, though.

She glanced over her back; her rifle was still firmly attached to the magnetic holster, along with most of her gear, though she'd lost some of it in the crash. She'd have to make do. Luckily, she still had the VOLUSPA, the caedometric weapon securely attached to the small of her back. How she'd deliver it to Oceana like this, she wasn't sure, but again: she'd make do.

When her gaze came back to her knee, she was surprised to see her her armor covered in snow, sticking to her fingers. There was snow everywhere; coating the trees and bushes, not even a speck of ground visible under the blanket. How was that possible?

In fact, now that she was up and looking around at the unfamiliar landscape, the thoughts began flying into her mind: was Chara okay? She'd fallen too, knocked out as the Kestrel took that fateful hit. More questions sprang up: where was she? Where was Chara? What about Sgt. Michaelson, Cpls. Holloway and Walker and Braden, Warrant Officer Denna? Had anyone else made it? What happened to the Expeditionary Force? Were the others still under attack, or had they won? Had any aliens followed her? Were there any enemies nearby right now?

She forced her mind to a screeching halt; she had to stay calm, had to think, focus. Set her priorities straight. God, but it was hard with the combat stims still pumping in her blood, through her system. She hated them, hated how they made her mind fuzzy and yet sharper than a monofilament blade, her senses and reflexes heightened with the chemically induced aggression that overrode everything. How they changed who she was and how she thought. Her heart was still racing from the battle, and her fingers ached to pull the trigger, to find the enemy and _do something_. But now wasn't the time for that. She had to find Chara. No matter what. Chara had to be alive . . . she'd promised. She had to be alive and down here somewhere, too. They hadn't fallen that far apart. Frisk would find her.

No matter what.

First things first. She'd . . . she'd been hit. Chara had been knocked out, and Frisk had gone to grab her, and then the dropship . . . they'd all fallen. But this didn't look like the mountain range. She looked up and saw only stalactites sticking to a dark cavern ceiling; she was underground? Did she fall into a cave? Squinting, with her visor's assistance, she scoped in on a beam of light above her, a hole in the ceiling; that must be where she made landfall, so to speak.

That's right; Mt. Ebott. Her armor had tagged it as she was falling. She was inside Mt. Ebott? Why was there snow, and trees and bushes inside a mountain? This whole area should have been flattened from the battle, and she didn't remember seeing snow outside during the flight. Something was definitely not right here.

No choice to but take it for what it was and move forward. She was inside the mountain; now, how to find Chara? She was about to key her comms to see if she could reach her when a sudden realization caused her to freeze; the mountains had been crawling with aliens during the battle above. What if they were down here as well? Activating her comms could bring unwanted attention to both her and Chara. But on the other hand, Chara wasn't showing up on her passive scans, the pings coming up empty. She needed some kind of lead.

Frisk decided to try risking it. In this kind of situation, the dangers of separation outweighed those of potential contact.

"Sovereign Three-Sixteen?" Frisk keyed her mic, speaking into the encrypted channel. STF had their own dedicated frequency for each Team, so there was less of a chance of unwanted listeners picking up the call. "This is Sovereign Three-Fifteen. Do you copy?"

Nothing but static answered her.

" . . . Sovereign Three-Sixteen?"

" . . . Chara?"

Silence.

She could feel her heart start to beat faster. No, relax. Maybe her comms had been damaged. Maybe whatever was blocking her connection with the ISAF forces above was blocking her down here. Maybe there was heavy Authority ECM this far down.

If that was the case, then Frisk would just have to find her on foot. She would find her. No matter what.

She forced herself up onto shaky feet, pressing a hand up against one of the nearby conifers to steady herself, sucking in recycled air through grit teeth. She . . . she was hurt bad. But Chara could be hurt worse. That single thought was what pushed her forward, through the snow-capped forest that rang with an odd silence. It was strange, not seeing the sky or sun. Not having the fleet above her. She and Chara had been on missions before without allied support, all alone behind enemy lines, but this was different. She could feel it. She took up her rifle in her hands, moving slowly and cautiously through the strange woodlands around her. Her compass was messed up, too; some kind of magnetic interference, likely. She'd have to go on intuition. Once she'd started moving, the pain had died down; she attributed it to both her drive and the painkillers kicking in. In its place was a sharp focus; Frisk's eyes snapped to every needle that fell from the trees, every clump of snow.

No enemy activity yet. But it felt like she was being watched. She didn't like it.

After exactly twenty-six minutes five seconds according to her mission timer, the trees thinned enough for Frisk to spot some sort of settlement. The buildings were made out of some kind of light wood, likely the surrounding pine, with some brick, all of the roofs covered with a layer of snow. Small blue flowers poked out of the snow on the ground. The buildings all looked . . . human. Very human. These were, without any question, distinctly _not_ Authority. Were there people down here, hiding in the mountains? Avoiding the war? How had they avoided both ISAF and the Authority for so long? Why weren't they helping, didn't they realize what was at stake?

Regardless, if there were people down here, maybe they could help. They might have seen Chara, might know the best way to get back to the surface. There was no one outside, which made sense since her armor was telling her that it was quite cold outside, but she could see light flickering out from the windows of the nearby buildings (was it . . . candle light?), and there were quite a few more farther back. This was looking more like a town than an isolated outpost.

She could make out voices coming from the nearest buildings; the sign up above the door read "GRILLBY'S" in large lettering, an "Open" sign hanging proudly in the five-paned window. What kind of building was this? Those massive windows were an obvious weak point, they would provide nearly no safe shelter from an attack. None of the buildings looked especially defensible, and they were certainly not up to ISAF standards. Shameful. She hoped they at least had Titanium-A bunkers.

There was a long, brick building to the right with a blue sign reading "Librarby," which Frisk didn't understand; but then, she didn't understand what a "Grillby's" was, either. Farther down was another building, decorated with strings of red and green lights, and with two boxes out front, one stuffed with envelopes of some kind. Were those lights some sort of signal or beacon? It seemed unlikely, given the lax attitude she seemed to be getting from the town. No guards, no sentry turrets, no air cav? Not even drone support overhead.

And to her left . . . was that a tree decorated with lights and little balls, with boxes under it? Strange. Frisk didn't understand this town at all. What was the point of that?

Farther left were another pair of houses, connected with a covered passageway; their signs read "Shop" and "Inn," and there was a little snow house next to the one marked "Inn."

Frisk settled upon the one directly in front of her, marked "Grillby's." She didn't know what it was, but there were definitely people inside; maybe they could help her find Chara, see if they'd spotted any Authority elements in the area.

She approached slowly, rifle still up against her shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon, flicking from left to right; she couldn't be too careful. One wrong move and she'd be dead. She'd never been this isolated before. The thought brought nervous quakes. She quickly quenched them and moved to the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open, MB55 at the ready.

She wasn't ready for what she found inside.

Her armor's temperature gauge jumped up once she had breached in, the interior significantly warmer than the outside. Booths and tables decorated the wooden floor with seemingly no purpose, inefficiently scattered, and a series of misshapen stools sat in front of a wooden counter in the far back. There was another doorway at the far end of the building, and Frisk could see some kind of metallic equipment back there.

But what was truly surprising was the bizarre cavalcade of _things_ that populated the building, for they were not, in fact, people. There were two dog-people, one in armor and one without, sitting at a table with cards, and in the booths sat some kind of dizzy rabbit and some great fanged horror that reminded her of the Dark and of dying men. Weird fish and duck people sat at the counter, and perhaps most disturbing was the man that walked out of the back room and paused, staring at her. He wore a black and white vest and shirt combination with black slacks, not entirely unlike some of the higher-ups she'd seen, though it was certainly not a uniform, but what was truly terrifying was that he was entirely on fire. Flaming hands poked out of white cuff links, and his head was an inferno, eyes poking out of the licks of flame, staring her down. He reminded her of the Authority's highfire.

God, but she never wanted to see another man consumed by those flames again, as long as she lived. That was a horrible way to go.

The flaming man was the first to notice her, no one else bothering to turn until the door had slammed shut behind the Special Forces operator, her rifle gripped tight. She'd been wrong, dead wrong. These things weren't human. They had to be alien – Authority. The enemy.

She had to destroy the enemy.

"Uh, hello," the rabbit-creature greeted her, a bit confused. "Who're you? New face?" That got their attention. Everyone had turned to look at her now, curious faces without any hint of hostility, though there was a little concern.

She didn't answer at first, her mind in overdrive. It took everything she had not to pull the trigger, mow them down where they sat. Why was she resisting? They were the enemy. Sovereign existed to destroy the enemy. Some part of her wanted to see them broken before her . . . but another part hesitated. Were these . . . really Authority?

A ping on her motion tracker, behind; someone was coming in. She spun around as the door opened, and . . .

"IS MY LAZY BROTHER HERE – NYEH?"

Frisk took an involuntary step back, a shudder running down her spine and causing her rifle to shake in her hands as she took in this newest sight. A skeleton, tall and clothed in some kind of metal armor with a red scarf, standing and talking. Looking at her through black sockets, white bones clattering. Scenes flashed in her mind, one after another; blackened bones and carbonized bodies staring at her, hands reaching for her in bent and twisted shapes. She could hear them rattling, blaming hr. All around her, the stench of death, and of her own failure.

Frisk swallowed hard, beads of cold sweat running down the side of her face despite the self-regulating environment of her suit, and forced herself to keep it together. Thankfully, her helmet kept her frayed nerves from the strange menagerie before (and behind) her.

"ARE YOU NEW? I DON'T REMEMBER ANY SHORT BLUE ROBOT MONSTERS IN SNOWDIN."

"I've never seen it either."

"It's not a human, is it?"  
"What's it wearing?"

"No, what's it holding?"

"I don't like how it's pointing that thing at us."

The man on fire in the vest just crackled behind the counter, staring her down but saying nothing.

The clamor in the building grew with the building pressure in Frisk's mind; the young soldier had never dealt with anything like this, never trained for or been prepared for this kind of situation. STF wasn't deployed for deescalation, not that that was even remotely an option against the Authority; every single alien race that was part of that coalition was ruthless. No mercy, no surrender. They butchered every living human that they saw, so she did the same to them. So, down here? Non-hostile non-humans? Impossible. It had to be a trick, maybe. Or a trap. Some sort of ambush?

She felt her pulse quicken, adrenaline kick in as years of training, combat, and instinct mixed with auto-injected stims and genetically-modified aggression all combined to scream out an answer:

Fight.

But was that the right thing to do here?

Fight.

They hadn't tried to actually do anything to her –

Fight. _Fight._ _**Fight.**_

Movement in her peripheral suddenly snapped her attention back to the scene at hand; the skeleton had still been talking.

" . . . AWFULLY QUIET, YOU KNOW. BUT LET ME BE THE FIRST TO WELCOME YOU –"

He stepped towards her with a hand out, and then reflexes took over, overriding any rational thought. She latched onto his wrist with her off-hand, keeping her left on the trigger, and yanked him off-balance, taking a fast step in and knocking his long but thin legs out from under him with a planted boot. As the skeleton fell, Frisk pivoted around him, slamming him to the ground hard with her weapon before taking it back up with both hands, her back now to the open door and her MB55 battle rifle trained on everyone inside. The entire motion had taken less than a second, leaving a very stunned skeleton on the ground and a silence that didn't seem to fit the atmosphere of the establishment.

It didn't last long. Strange things rose from the stools and booths in shock, great teeth-filled mouths on legs and strange anthropomorphic duck people (and one very tipsy rabbit) and more raising voices and heads. The man on fire in the vest in the back made to start heading for her, his flames flaring up aggressively and a hostile glint in his eyes.

"Freeze. Don't move," Frisk ordered, her quiet voice intense as it was amplified by her suit's external speakers and resounded through the room. She swept the muzzle of her rifle across the room, her finger not quite on the trigger. She fought her instincts; she didn't want to open fire on them. Not yet, at least. Maybe she could learn something.

Maybe they'd seen Chara.

Her aim lingered just long enough on the fire man to make him get the point. He got it, holding in place and ceasing his advance.

The crowd froze but kept speaking; Frisk could only make out a few things through the murmurings.

"It's a girl?"

"What does she want?"

"WOWIE. SHE'S STRONG!" The skeleton exclaimed from the floor, evidently not too troubled by CQC.

"What are you? Are you Authority?" The child soldier asked no one in particular; she wanted to see who would answer. And she needed to know. Know if they were Kill On Sight.

More murmurs followed; they were confused. Didn't understand the question. Did they not know what the Authority was? How?

" . . . what do you mean?" The man on fire spoke, his words spitting and sputtering like a burning log. How appropriate.

"Are you Authority races?" Frisk clarified.

"You're in the Underground, man. We're all Monsters down here," the dizzy rabbit replied with a shrug. Frisk's eyes shot to him, though she kept her aim steady. "Don't even know what an 'Authority' is."

"I'M A SKELETON!" Yes, Frisk could see that. But Monsters? What did that mean? It didn't sound like self-deprecation. And they were all so different . . . they didn't match any known Authority race. And they weren't armed. Not even rudimentary firearms, or the most basic of composite armor.

"Who leads you?"

" . . . you're a human, aren't ya?" One of the dogs in armor asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Frisk shifted the barrel to point at him, motioning at him to stand down. There, there. No wrong moves.

"Who is your leader?" She asked again, her tone even. She was the one in control here.

"WHY, KING ASGORE, OF COURSE! YOU'D LOVE HIM, HE'S SUPER NICE!" The skeleton answered this time, from the floor. Asgore, huh? Never heard of him. Certainly not on the kill list. "WAIT, ARE YOU A HUMAN?!"

Was that so outrageous? There was only Human and non-Human in the universe. Why the surprise? This was their home planet, after all.

"Yes," Frisk answered, though she didn't move her weapon or break eye contact with the dog. A hushed gasp went up among the . . . Monsters. Was that . . . the wrong thing to say? Frisk wasn't used to this kind of interaction; she only knew how to escalate through force. Negotiation was not part of her MO.

As a peaceful gesture, she slowly raised the barrel of her rifle until it was safely pointed in the air, other hand raised, palm outstretched. When she was sure no one would try anything, she reached for her helmet. Other soldiers seemed to be more at ease around her when they could look her in the eye. She popped it off with one hand, affixing it to the curve of her back, and her brown hair fell back into place. Her head was . . . cold, without the helmet.

A louder gasp rang out. Oops.

"It is a human!"

"She's a girl!"  
"She's just a kid?"

"Do we call Undyne?"

"CAN I CAPTURE YOU?!"

Frisk tensed at that, shifted her weight to the balls of her feet to fight if need be.

"I'm . . . not here for trouble," her voice was soft and melodic now, without the amplification of the helmet to add weight and authority to her voice. "I just have some questions."

"well, that's a relief. mind if I squeeze through? I want a burg."

The sudden voice at her back caused the Tier One operator to hurl herself to the side in a quick step, turning to see a short, stocky skeleton in a blue hooded sweatshirt with pink slippers. Her eyes locked onto him, entire body tensed like a spring, ready to strike. How had he gotten behind her? Even without the motion tracker, she would have heard him approach. No, he came from nowhere.

There was something disconcerting, not the least of which was how he'd gotten her back without any sound or motion. Something about how he held himself, how he met her gaze, how he seemed to stare through her . . . her fingers, her head, her whole body itched to match the threat that this unassuming, unarmed skeleton somehow posed to her. To crush him and assert herself. She squashed it down; she wouldn't be the instigator here. She wouldn't draw first blood.

She wouldn't be the one that started the killing back up.

After a few tense moments that seemed to drag on, the second skeleton finally broke the silence with a chuckle.

"woops, sorry. didn't mean to make you jump out of your skin there. heh heh."

Some nervous laughter from inside; they knew him, then. Frisk didn't laugh, instead keeping her gaze locked on him. She didn't aim her weapon at him, however, so that counted for something.

"tough one, huh? c'mon, lighten up there buddy. whaddaya say?"

He stuck his hand out, staring at her expectantly with those strange lights in his sockets, grin still on his face. In fact, it hadn't really moved. Frisk didn't attack him on reflex this time (which was an . . . improvement?), but . . . she still wasn't sure about this. It was all just too different. She'd have been more comfortable if they'd been shooting at her; she knew what to do about that. But these "monsters" weren't even armed; in fact, she wasn't even sure they knew what a firearm was, judging by the looks and comments. And truthfully . . . she was glad they weren't, glad they didn't. She didn't know why, but there was something nice here. She didn't want to ruin that.

Didn't want to turn down here into up there.

And so, slowly, she took the skeleton's bony phalanges into her own armored hand with a watchful eye and a soft squeeze (careful, so as not to crush him into powder) . . . and was met with a noise not unlike . . . flatulence? Frisk continued to stare down, head cocked slightly to the side, not really sure what to make of this, as the skeleton turned his hand to reveal a small pink bag of some kind.

"heh heh. the ol' whoopie cushion in the hand gag. pretty good, huh?" He asked, and she could have sworn his eye . . . ridges rose like eyebrows. The whole ordeal was . . . unexpected.

Frisk couldn't help it.

"Hee hee," she giggled despite herself, a small but warm grin appearing to match the skeleton's, and her hand rose to cover her mouth. She blinked once, twice, long lashes over amber orbs; when was the last time that she had laughed?

Behind her, she could practically feel the pent-up tension in the place called Grillby's evaporate, the crowd evidently waiting on her reaction before letting out a collective sigh of relief and joining in the laughter, though it was still strained and nervous.

"see? works every time," the skeleton winked. He seemed to let out a held breath of his own, though Frisk wasn't sure if he'd even have lungs. Was she . . . that scary? She guessed it made sense. She was a terror weapon, after all, designed to horrify the Authority into a potential ceasefire. A weapon made to kill until the survivors had had enough. To kill . . .

"so, what's your name, kiddo?" The skeleton asked, snapping Frisk out of it.

" . . . Lieutenant, Junior Grade Frisk-STF15," she replied after a moment of hesitation, soldier's instincts still screaming at her.

" . . . huh. strange name. so, you're a human, huh? that's hilarious. I'm Sans, Sans the Skeleton. that's my brother, Papyrus, in there. I'm sure he was floored to meet you."

"NOT FUNNY!" Papyrus screamed.

"so anyway, now that we're introduced and good pals, why not come in, grab a bite, chat?"

Frisk shook her head "no," declining the offer. While she would never turn down food, she wasn't especially comfortable eating with a bunch of monsters she'd just been in a standoff with. And why would Sans want her to come in, anyway? Especially after how she'd treated his brother.

The monsters seemed placated, but . . . it could easily be a trap, or something could set one of them off. No, better to keep to the plan. Find Chara, find their way out, regroup with the Expeditionary Force. Assess the damage from the last contact and deliver the package. Destroy the Authority battlecluster over Oceana.

. . . and then what? They still controlled over 60% of the planet.

No, focus. One step at a time. All she had to do was follow her orders and kill the enemy.

"you sure? he serves good grub." Frisk didn't think he really cared about the food; Sans was trying to get her inside. Just who was he? Was he a soldier?

" . . . I'm sorry," Frisk declined his offer again. "There's . . . something I have to do." Should she ask them about Chara? They clearly hadn't seen her, else they wouldn't have reacted the way they had around her. It might just endanger her.

"you're trying to get some info, yeah?" Sans asked. That caught Frisk off-guard. He definitely hadn't been here when she'd said that. He knew more than he was letting on. Or was it just her? "if you'd prefer, we could talk at my place. I can tell you're new here, so let me show you the ropes."

" . . . all right," Frisk finally relented with a soft grin, slinging her rifle onto the magnetic holster on her back. She was in a hurry, but maybe it would do some good to slow down for a minute, make up with the locals, get some information about the situation down here. Make some friends rather than enemies. Kind of a novel concept.

"knew you'd come around," Sans chuckled, glancing into Grillby's. "'sokay, she's with me now. meet my new pal, Frisk, everyone." Silent stares.

"WAIT! I'LL ESCORT HER BACK TO OUR HOUSE WITH YOU!" Papyrus leaped up from the floor with a strange pose. "UNDYNE WILL BE SO PLEASED WITH US! OH BOY!" These monsters were certainly animated, she'd give them that. And very . . . friendly?

"It's . . . nice to meet the both of you. And I'm sorry. About earlier," she apologized, both to Papyrus and to everyone inside. "I don't want a fight."

To their credit, they seemed to accept it, going back to their business as the two skeletons began to lead the soldier on the not-so-long trek back to their home.


	4. Side Story 1 - Reunion

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! To help celebrate, I figured I'd do some little side chapters for both of my stories. This doesn't fit chronologically; it takes place before the battle above Mt. Ebott. Just a little one-off, though this one won't have as much holiday cheer as the story for Phantom Pains considering the setting. Regardless, hope you enjoy and hope your holidays are blessed and joyful!

 _In Flanders on the Christmas morn_  
 _The trenched foemen lay,_  
 _the German and the Briton born,_  
 _And it was Christmas Day._

 _The red sun rose on fields accurst,_  
 _The gray fog fled away;_  
 _But neither cared to fire the first,_  
 _For it was Christmas Day!_

 _They called from each to each across_  
 _The hideous disarray,_  
 _For terrible has been their loss:_  
 _"Oh, this is Christmas Day!"_

 _Their rifles all they set aside,_  
 _One impulse to obey;_  
 _'Twas just the men on either side,_  
 _Just men — and Christmas Day._

 _They dug the graves for all their dead_  
 _And over them did pray:_  
 _And Englishmen and Germans said:_  
 _"How strange a Christmas Day!"_

 _Between the trenches then they met,_  
 _Shook hands, and e'en did play_  
 _At games on which their hearts were set_  
 _On happy Christmas Day._

 _Not all the emperors and kings,_  
 _Financiers and they_  
 _Who rule us could prevent these things —_  
 _For it was Christmas Day._

 _Oh ye who read this truthful rime_  
 _From Flanders, kneel and say:_  
 _God speed the time when every day_  
 _Shall be as Christmas Day._

 **-"A Carol from Flanders," Frederick Niven**

Side Story 1: Reunion

 **During the Collapse**

With a wordless grunt, Frisk-STF15 dropped to a knee as she sent her closed fist crashing down on the skull of the monstrous Kelxia, its enlarged cranium ringed with bioluminescent crowns that flashed in distress and anguish. It let out a warbling wail, spiked tail whipping at Frisk; she dodged it with a flick of the head, grabbed hold and ripped it off, cast it down into the pile of dead she sat upon, adding to the charnel pit.

Another hammer blow to the glossy black carapace and another cry of pain; their skulls were thick, evolution granting them unusual toughness when compared to some of their fellow Authority races. But Frisk was engineered better, designed better. And there was no living thing in this universe that she could not exterminate.

It put up a last, futile fight, squirming amidst the mountain of dead aliens and humans that they wrestled upon, until one final blow cracked it open, sending her fist through its skull and ending its life. Frisk sucked in a deep breath of air, let it out slowly as she pulled her fist out from the beast, shook the gore from her hand. She glanced around her; Camlann Tor was gone, in its place only the kind of horror that blanched one's mind.

She was numb to it by now.

The fortress had fallen, pounded flat by the orbital barrage, and the city was a burning pit. Maybe one in ten shuttles had made it out, and the fleet was in shambles. The Authority had overwhelmed them in an attack that had already annihilated WESTCOM and now was doing the same to CENTCOM. Nothing moved around Frisk, human or alien. Just corpses, piled high; the first round of bodies had been made into defensive walls. The second added to those walls. By the fifth wave, they were fighting ontop the bodies. And now, only Frisk was left, surveying the silent battlefield, her hair blowing in the breeze. Every other living thing around her was dead.

It could only be called victory.

She rose from the body of her broken foe, pushing it to the side to retrieve her helmet. Good; it still worked. The date flickered in her visor; December 25th. The firefight had escalated into a bloodbath that had continued for two days straight. The battle was far from over, however; the defensive lines had fallen back under the cover provided by them here today, reestablished to give the ISAF forces a chance to regroup and analyze the situation.

She had been meant to die, here; she knew that. They were a sacrifice, buying time for the main force to pull back. For the greater good. She'd obeyed; it was her duty to protect Humanity. And Chara had been with the command shuttle out. She'd survived.

Frisk found a wry grin on her face, imagining the stink Chara must have put up when she'd found that Frisk hadn't been allowed on that shuttle with her. But here she was. Once more the sole survivor.

The soldier began the long march following the path of the exfiltration; if she were lucky, she would run into some stragglers. She had to maintain radio silence; wouldn't want to give away their position to the enemy.

She was so thirsty; she hadn't had a drink in 20 hours. Her water supply had run dry, and her suit could only recycle so much. Nothing to do but keep walking.

God, she was thirsty.

After hours on the trail, the bodies had finally begun to disperse, the sparse pines no longer fertilized by the remnants of the battle, though the smoke from the city could still be seen in the blood-red sky. Frisk didn't like that color of sunset. She'd seen enough of it; bring on the darkness. Let those stars shine down on her; those damned stars, and the planets that orbited them.

No, don't go down that hole. She wouldn't give in to that. That's what they wanted; that's what her handlers wanted. As much as she hated the war, sometimes she thought she hated them more. If it weren't for them, Chara could be happy. And she wouldn't have to kill. But then, if she didn't, they'd be dead. She and Chara both. It left a bitter taste in her mouth; if only.

A light in the horizon brought her attention back to the real world; that was unmistakably a Black Kite helo, flying in low and fast. ISAF forces. Friendlies. Living, breathing people. Frisk snatched hold of the green flare hooked onto her thigh, lighting it with a crack and holding it aloft, plumes of thick and verdant emerald smoke pouring into the air. The Black Kite flew past, circled around before setting down in a rocky clearing, a scattering of stripped hemlocks trying to stand firm in the rotor wash.

Frisk staggered forward, grateful, and watched as the door opened . . . to find Chara throwing herself out of the helo and hurling herself at her. Frisk's heart leapt out of her throat as she grabbed hold of her sister, the words not coming.

"Frisk, Frisk, you made it! I knew you'd make it!" Chara grabbed hold of the back of Frisk's head, tearing off her helmet (and Frisk's) and bringing their foreheads together as they embraced.

"Ch . . . Chara!" Frisk managed to make out, the elation evident in that sole word. Chara was here! Chara was here and alive!

"Those bastards, they didn't tell me you'd been reassigned, they didn't _tell me_ and they'd shipped me off to watch some fucking generals while you were out there, and I'm so sorry - "

"Chara," Frisk grabbed hold of her partner tight, pressing her face into Chara's. "You came back for me. I knew you would."

"Of course," Chara giggled, and Frisk could hear the tears in her voice, though none fell from her eyes. Chara could undoubtedly hear the same in hers. Even after all of this, they were both still here. They were both still alive. They had each other.

"Lieutenant," an older voice called out, and Frisk looked past Chara to see none other than Commander Winter stepping out of the Black Kite, his midnight uniform matching the pipe in his mouth, though he never smoked it. He tugged at his cap with a nod, his thumb rubbing past the laurel wings on the brim. "Glad to see you made it back."

"Commander," Frisk replied, breaking off from Chara to address the man in charge of SPECCOM. This was still potentially a combat zone, so she didn't salute, but she would still give this man the respect he deserved. She'd known him all her life; he was a teacher and a guide as well as her commanding officer.

"I'm sorry you got left behind. One of my . . . less capable subordinates saw fit to leave one of my finest to die. But here you are," Winter spoke slowly, with a Texan drawl that matched his gray hair and salt and pepper mustache. He had on a wide grin that made his eyes sparkle, looking down at her with a mix of pride and approval that made her heart swim. "It's got to be a Christmas miracle."

She looked at him with confusion at that last line, head cocked; she'd never heard of Christmas before. Neither had Chara, from the looks of it, though she was less confused and more . . . agitated. Frisk hoped that whoever the Commander was talking about hadn't run into Chara . . . it wouldn't turn out well for him.

"Ah, right, you wouldn't know. Never mind, soldier. Come on, let's get you on board. We've some long days ahead of us." With that, he turned and climbed back into the Black Kite. Frisk and Chara took one more look at each other, clasping their hands tight before heading towards the helicopter themselves, together once more.


	5. Chapter 4 - Sisyphus Below

Buh

 _. . .  
``Why was I chosen for this hateful task,  
Fantastically futile, which the Gods  
Lay on their victim, for their own disport?  
Rather a thousand times upon the wheel  
Would I, Ixion-like, be racked, or lift  
The tantalising gourd-cup to my lips.  
I was no wickeder than they, and I  
Founded Ephyra in a stony land,  
Raised monolithic temples to the Gods,  
And made the name of Corinth glorious from  
Peloponnesus unto Attica.  
Was it a crime to be Ulysses' sire  
By sportive Anticlea ere she wed  
Laertes, bringing him a Royal heir?  
Yearning for whom, when Circe and her lures  
From Ithaca withheld his bark, she died.  
If such to me imputed be a crime,  
Then all the Gods are bestial criminals,  
Lustful, adulterous, meretricious Gods.  
What more was my offence? Was it because  
I from the clustered sister-Pleiades  
Lured Merope to earth to share my love,  
Not an ephemeral, but strong-nuptialled love?  
Whereat the Gods, envying a mortal's joy,  
Darkened her light in Heaven, and vengefully  
In me infused her immortality,  
That I might strain for ever at the task  
Of aiding upward downward-destined world._  
. . .

 **-"Sisyphus," Alfred Austin**

Chapter 4 – Sisyphus Below

Man, what an enormous pain.

Sans certainly hadn't been expecting anything like this when he'd woken up this morning. He'd been hoping for just another lazy day. Things were off to a good start: he'd slept in late and hadn't even woken once during the night in a cold sweat. So that was nice.

There'd been that strange rumbling, but he'd been hoping that that would be someone else's problem, not his. But as the day went on, he'd felt a strange chill in his bones, an itching feeling that he knew he couldn't ignore anymore.

So he'd started snooping around; palled around at the door, made a promise he really didn't want to make, checked some of the readings in his lab and around town. There was something fishy going on (unrelated to the Cap'n), and it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Things hadn't been great, but he had a feeling they were about to get a whole lot worse.

That had got him worrying about Papyrus, so he figured he ought to go find him; or rather, let himself be found, since his bro would almost certainly be looking for him since he was technically supposed to be, you know, working or something. And the first place that Pap would look would be his favorite slack-off spot over at Grillby's, so he ought to live up to his expectations and head down, right?

And that's how he came face to face with the most terrifying living thing he'd ever encountered in his long, laconic life. The thing had more LV than he'd ever thought possible, certainly more than the entire Underground put together, and it had been standing right over the sprawled form of his brother. He wouldn't have even recognized it as human if it hadn't turned, all metal and malice, but there was a softness in the eyes that stayed his hand. That, and his unfortunate promise. Besides, it seemed like the human wasn't going to do anything _too_ bad, judging from first impressions.

And boy, oh boy, what an impression. Heavy armor and some kind of weapon combined with its LV suggested a killer, but the juvenile paint scheme, the childish face with the soft voice suggested a kid. There were dark bags under brown eyes that seemed cracked with crimson, and her face was coated in dirt and soot and . . . something red and sticky. He wasn't sure what it was.

So here she was, a girl, looking for something, based on what he'd listened in on before sticking his nose in. A partner, maybe? Perhaps behind the door? It wasn't out of the question.

She was hardly taller than him, and he guessed a lot of it was in the boots; she couldn't be too old, but there was a maturity in those eyes that gave him shivers. It had been a long time since a human had fallen down into the Underground; were they all like this? Maybe ol' Fluffybuns oughta be rethinking his plan. Though, this one seemed nice enough; polite and apologetic.

He didn't know why he'd suggested that it follow him back to their place, but now here they were, him, his brother, and the human, Frisk-STF15. Even the name left a bad taste in his mouth. Something rotten was going on here. Maybe he should've just slept in and let the entire thing blow over.

Too late for that now, though. Now he was stuck in it.

He glanced back over at her; she was taking pretty special care not to let either of them get even a single step behind her, and if she was trying to act casual, she was failing miserably. Her eyes kept scanning the horizon, jumping at every little thing that moved before continuing the sweep. What was she so scared of? It looked like she could walk through the lava in Hotland in that suit and be fine. She wasn't much for conversation, either, and after that little chuckle he'd gotten out of her, there hadn't been much in those hazel eyes, but sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of something there. Or maybe not, who knows.

Papyrus was the first to break the silence as they crunched through the snow towards their home, affable as always. Sans would need to speak with him to make sure he knew to play it safe with this one . . . and speak to her as well. Some quality one-on-one time. Get some things straight.

"SO, YOU'RE IN THE HUMAN ROYAL GUARD, RIGHT?"

"No. I'm with Special Operations Command, Special Weapons Group, Sovereign Task Force, Team Three," the kid replied.

" . . . UHHH. THAT SOUNDS . . . IMPORTANT?"

"what a mouthful," Sans shrugged. "but it's close enough, yeah?" Probably not, but Sans was curious just what this kid did up on the surface. He also wondered why a kid was apparently fighting, but based on what he remembered of humans, they weren't exactly the most virtuous. After all, if they were, monsters wouldn't be stuck down here, would they?

"'Royal Guard' protects the king, yes?" the girl asked.

"for the most part." That, and looks for dangerous humans. But they could explain that part later.

"Then no," Frisk's voice got colder, though she kept walking. "Sovereign doesn't protect." Boy, that wasn't ominous at all.

"yeah, well, uh, we're here," Sans scratched the back of his head, not really sure how to respond to that statement. Did the kid even realize the veiled threats they were making . . . ? She seemed nice enough, so Sans was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but man, what a pain.

"YES! EXCELLENT! I HAVE NOW SUCCESSFULLY CAPTURED YOU!" Papyrus leaped to the front door, yanking it open and holding it wide for them to enter. "POMP AND POPULARITY AWAIT! NOW, TO PROPERLY HOLD YOU UNTIL . . . WHATEVER IT IS THAT COMES NEXT! AFTER YOU!"

Frisk shot Sans a questioning glance, one of her eyebrows raised. The expression looked cute on the kid, he had to admit. Sans shrugged and shot her a hopeful expression back, pointing at Papyrus with his eyes.

"trust me, go along with it. he'd really appreciate it," Sans whispered. "I'll explain inside."

The squirt stifled a chuckle and played along, nodding a _thank you_ to Papyrus as she stepped inside behind Sans. Sans found himself letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding; this girl didn't seem too bad, actually. Much . . . nicer than he'd first feared, though her insane LV still left many questions. But he was glad that she was willing to play nice.

"So . . . I'm 'captured,' am I? This is a first," Frisk stepped out of the doorway, scanning the inside of their house from the look of it before turning back to Papyrus. "Why?"

"WHY WHAT?"

"Why capture me?"

"OH! WELL, UNDYNE SAID TO, OF COURSE!" Papyrus shut the door as Sans moved to his usual spot on the couch. Gotta claim it before it was taken. "AND WITH THIS ROUSING SUCCESS, I'LL BE SURE TO GET INTO THE ROYAL GUARD! BUT FIRST, AS MY PRISONER, I MUST MAKE SURE THAT YOU ARE BOTH COMFORTABLE AND REFRESHED. SO PLEASE, TAKE A SEAT!"

"yeah, take a load off, new pal," Sans grinned, patting the empty space next to him.

" . . ." She seemed to just stare back at the couch, eyeing it with a wary glance before deciding on something, a slight shake of the head tipping Sans off that whatever decision she'd made, it had been a negative. "I shouldn't."

"shouldn't why?" Sans asked back with a scratch of the head, looking over at Pap. This kid seemed nicer than he'd first thought, that was true, but she was still pretty strange. Oddly quiet and non-confrontational now considering her earlier display.

"My armor," she looked over herself. "I would crush your furniture."

"WHAT? BUT YOU'RE SO SMALL! HOW MUCH COULD YOU WEIGH?"

"435 pounds in armor."

"oh, uh, yeah, I guess you would," Sans chuckled as Papyrus sputtered and swirled. Yeah, that would squish their poor comfy couch. "hang on, I think I have a solution."

He stepped out of the room, heading into the kitchen. Once he was out of eyesight, he popped down into the basement with a cerulean glow; across such a short distance, teleporting was almost easier than walking. He tapped his fingers against the wall, searching . . . ah, there it was. A metal stool in the corner. It was built solid, and while its lack of spinning was what led him to abandon it for his new chair, it should support the kid well enough to let her sit down at least. Man, what a hassle that had to be, huh? He was glad he didn't weigh 435 pounds.

With stool in tow, he was about to teleport back to the kitchen . . . but it'd be way funnier to show up from somewhere else instead. So he instead decided to appear outside the front door, two sharp knocks announcing his arrival.

"SANS! I ASKED YOU NOT TO DO THAT IN THE HOUSE!" Papyrus yanked the door open. Sans took the chance to look over at Frisk; her eyes were wide as dinner plates, bouncing from the kitchen back to the front door. Heh heh. Mission accomplished.

"yeah, I know, you can't stand for it," Sans handed the stool to Frisk with a wink. She grinned, nodding her thanks and taking a seat . . . as a foundation-leveling fart burst out from the stool. She quickly leapt off of the stool to find a whoopie cushion stealthily hidden, painted black to match the cushion.

"oh yeah, forgot to warn you about that. someone's been leaving them all over our chairs. darndest thing really."

Frisk let out a bubbly laugh at that, covering her mouth like the first time. There it was; she was a cute kid when she laughed. Almost cute enough to overlook the "armored war machine" look she had going.

"Thanks," she took a seat in the living room as Papyrus cried out in panic before regaining control and joining them in the living room. Their place wasn't large, but it was home, and it provided well for them. Blue and purple lines zig-zagged across the carpet, a nice complement to the maroon walls. Sans and Papyrus took their usual places on the lime-green couch, with Frisk across from them, nearer to the door, her eyes wandering; Sans could see the questions bubbling up in her eyes. The first would undoubtedly be about his reappearance though, he'd bet anything.

"So, how did you . . . ?" Bingo.

"trade secret," Sans shrugged. "anything to drink?" A shake of the head and wave of the hand, _no_ _thanks_. "all right. so, where to begin?"

"Do you . . ." She stopped for a second, reconsidering before continuing on. "Has anyone seen another human down here? Green and yellow armor?" That answered one of Sans' earlier questions, then; there was definitely a second one. But she didn't know where her friend was. Curious. They didn't come down together?

"I haven't. you heard anything on the grapevine, Pap?"

"NO. IS THIS PERSON YOUR FRIEND?"

" . . . yes, very much so."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST COME DOWN TOGETHER?"

"We . . . I tried, but . . ." Frisk's breath hitched a bit at that, and she brought a hand up to her face, running it through her hair. "You don't . . . you really don't know anything above this cave, do you?"

"we don't get out much, you could say," Sans sighed. "why, what are we missing?"

"IS IT PARTIES? I'M PROUD TO SAY I'VE NEVER MISSED A PARTY!" Papyrus proudly declared, his cape suddenly blowing in the non-existent breeze. Man, his brother was cool. The kid seemed a bit put off by his answer though.

"Just . . . you're better off down here." Again, that wasn't ominous at all. What kind of dystopia was up there, anyway? The Surface was supposed to be great. Wasn't it? " . . . I need to find Chara, and then we need to leave. Can you help?"

"bad news about that one, kiddo," Sans stretched his legs out. "you're, uh, not getting out. no one does. that's kind of the problem down here."

"What?"

"THE BARRIER. HUMANS PUT IT UP DURING THE WAR AGAINST MONSTERS, SO NO ONE CAN GET OUT. BUT DON'T WORRY, THE KING WILL FIX EVERYTHING!" Papyrus explained. Sans didn't miss how the kid tightened up after he'd mentioned the Human-Monster War, and neither had Papyrus, considering the quick attempt at reassurance.

"Explain," she barked, before quickly softening and adding a "please" at the end.

"you don't know the story? guess I shouldn't be too surprised, considering," Sans got up from the couch, heading back towards the kitchen. "i'm gonna grab a drink if we're doing this. sure you're good?" No answer from the kid, though Papyrus wanted a glass of water. Sans wasn't sure what was setting the kid off more; mention of a war that she apparently didn't know about, or being told that she wasn't getting out of here. Maybe it was the combination. Well, she didn't have too much choice in the matter; none of them did. Unless she was willing to, you know, give up her soul and die. But Sans highly doubted that, and if at all possible, he'd really prefer it not come to that either. Both out of personal preference and as part of his promise to the lady behind the door.

He dug around in the fridge for a bit, finding a cool bottle of ketchup (hey, don't judge) before lifting a glass up to the sink with his magic and filling it up for Papyrus (there may have been a better place to keep Papyrus' bones than a giant cabinet under the sink, all things considered, though it did fit his trombone nicely for when the need arose). He took a minute afterwards to just . . . gather his thoughts, get himself ready for this. Things were being set in motion, he could feel it. He just hoped that it would turn out all right; he didn't dare hope that it would put a stop to things or that they'd get out, but just that it wouldn't be too bad. That wasn't too much to hope for, yeah?

As he came back from the kitchen (walking, this time) he heard Papyrus and the human talking about a lighter matter.

" . . . NEVER SEEN THE JUNIOR JUMBLE?"

"Um . . . no, we don't really . . . have time for things like that."

"NO TIME FOR JUMBLES _OR_ PUZZLES? MY GOODNESS! POOR HUMAN! NOT TO WORRY, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL SOON EDUCATE! YOUR SENTENCE AS MY PRISONER WILL BE FILLED WITH PLENTY OF PUZZLING EXPERIENCES!"

"careful with the puzzles, or you'll give them a brain freeze," Sans interjected, handing Papyrus his glass (THANKS BUT ALSO GAH!) before taking his throne, sinking in and popping the top off his ketchup. "sorry I took so long. ready to get down to business?"


	6. Chapter 5 - Dialogues

Oh boy, I'm on a roll

 _PART ONE:_

 _SETTING THE SCENE: THE CAVE AND THE FIRE_

 _ **The cave**_

 _SOCRATES: Imagine this: People live under the earth in a cavelike dwelling. Stretching a long way up toward the daylight is its entrance, toward which the entire cave is gathered. The people have been in this dwelling since childhood, shackled by the legs and neck..Thus they stay in the same place so that there is only one thing for them to look that: whatever they encounter in front of their faces. But because they are shackled, they are unable to turn their heads around._

 _ **A fire is behind them, and there is a wall between the fire and the prisoners**_

 _SOCRATES: Some light, of course, is allowed them, namely from a fire that casts its glow toward them from behind them, being above and at some distance. Between the fire and those who are shackled [i.e., behind their backs] there runs a walkway at a certain height. Imagine that a low wall has been built the length of the walkway, like the low curtain that puppeteers put up, over which they show their puppets._

 _ **The images carried before the fire**_

 _SOCRATES: So now imagine that all along this low wall people are carrying all sorts of things that reach up higher than the wall: statues and other carvings made of stone or wood and many other artifacts that people have made. As you would expect, some are talking to each other [as they walk along] and some are silent._

 _GLAUCON: This is an unusual picture that you are presenting here, and these are unusual prisoners._

 _SOCRATES: They are very much like us humans, I [Socrates] responded._

 _ **What the prisoners see and hear**_

 _SOCRATES: What do you think? From the beginning people like this have never managed, whether on their own or with the help by others, to see anything besides the shadows that are [continually] projected on the wall opposite them by the glow of the fire._

 _GLAUCON: How could it be otherwise, since they are forced to keep their heads immobile for their entire lives?_

 _SOCRATES: And what do they see of the things that are being carried along [behind them]? Do they not see simply these [namely the shadows]?_

 _GLAUCON: Certainly._

 _SOCRATES: Now if they were able to say something about what they saw and to talk it over, do you not think that they would regard that which they saw on the wall as beings?_

 _GLAUCON: They would have to._

 _SOCRATES: And now what if this prison also had an echo reverberating off the wall in front of them [the one that they always and only look at]? Whenever one of the people walking behind those in chains (and carrying the things) would make a sound, do you think the prisoners would imagine that the speaker were anyone other than the shadow passing in front of them?_

 _GLAUCON: Nothing else, by Zeus!_

 _SOCRATES: All in all, I responded, those who were chained would consider nothing besides the shadows of the artifacts as the unhidden._

 _GLAUCON: That would absolutely have to be._

 **-"Republic," VII – The Allegory of the Cave (Part I), Plato**

Chapter 5 - Dialogues

Frisk struggled to parse just what exactly was going on here; not only was there a race of hereforto unknown monsters living under them for how many centuries, but from what the tall one, Papyrus, had said, the reason for her "capture" was because these monsters either had been or still were at war with Humanity. Protocol was clear: capture of an Aufhassen drive or Titan suit was absolutely unacceptable. As easygoing unknowns, Frisk was fine to play along, but if they were truly an opposing force, then . . . Frisk had no choice.

She wished more than anything there was more to this story.

Her suit registered her heightened tension and began sympathetic stimulant administration; Frisk sucked in a deep breath, clenched and unclenched her fists. She was the one in control here. Not the suit, not the stims.

"Explain," she said, not realizing how gruff it sounded. She added a "please" to the end to soften it.

"you don't know the story? guess I shouldn't be too surprised, considering," The short one, Sans, shrugged. So there was more to this. He got up from his seat, motioning to the back. "i'm gonna grab a drink if we're doing this. sure you're good?"

Frisk didn't respond, too wrapped up in the possibilities that lay ahead. Possibility; what a word. She thought back to her dream, back on the Kestrel. Those strange visions, where she wasn't fighting, where she and Chara were in a field together, neither in armor nor uniform. It would have been nice; but that was all it was. A dream. A possibility that could never be.

Was this the same thing? Was this brief cessation of violence just another dream? Would she really have to kill these monsters?

A question from Papyrus snapped her out of her train of thought; that was stupid. She'd let herself become distracted, complacent. This skeleton was a soldier, or wanted to be one at any rate. He wanted to take her prisoner. He was a potential threat. She couldn't let her guard down.

"SO, DID YOU RUN INTO ANY OF MY PUZZLES ON YOUR WAY IN? WHAT DID YOU THINK? PRETTY GOOD, NYEH?"

"Umm," Frisk scratched her cheek, not really sure what he was talking about. "Puzzles? You mean like booby traps?"

"OH GOODNESS, NO! NEVER!" Papyrus was so aghast that Frisk almost felt bad for asking. "HOW COULD YOU EVEN CONSIDER SOMETHING SO NOBLE AND REFINED AS THE PUZZLE ON THE SAME LEVEL AS A TRAP?"

"Well, I came in from the forest to the south, and didn't run into anything. What are they?"

"THE PUZZLE CANNOT BE EXPLAINED IN WORDS, DEAR HUMAN. IT CAN ONLY BE EXPERIENCED," Papyrus yelled (why was he so loud?), leaping to his feet so fast Frisk almost jumped him by reflex. The skeleton moved to a bookshelf, pulling out a small book; the cover was purple, with blown-up letters that read "Big Book of Junior Jumbles."

"SURELY YOU'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE! ONLY TRUE INTELLECTUALS CAN APPRECIATE AND SOLVE THE MANY QUERIES WITHIN!" He opened the book, revealing some sort of page of scrambled letters. Frisk figured out the goal pretty quick (she didn't think herself very smart, but she was observant at least); there were words in the grid of letters. You were supposed to just find the words? What did that accomplish?

Frisk stared at it with narrowed eyes, hoping to hide her disdain; the skeleton seemed so excited, she hated to ruin his mood. But this childish drivel . . . did these monsters really have time to just _waste_ on things like this? No fear of knives in the dark or living shadows . . . She almost envied them. No, saying that she _did_ envy them would be more accurate.

"YOU'VE NEVER SEEN THE JUNIOR JUMBLE?"

"Um . . . no, we don't really . . . have time for things like that," Frisk tried to put it nicely. She wasn't sure if she had succeeded.

"NO TIME FOR JUMBLES _OR_ PUZZLES? MY GOODNESS! POOR HUMAN! NOT TO WORRY, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SHALL SOON EDUCATE! YOUR SENTENCE AS MY PRISONER WILL BE FILLED WITH PLENTY OF PUZZLING EXPERIENCES!"

"careful with the puzzles, or you'll give them a brain freeze," Sans came back, handing Papyrus his glass before heading back to his seat. "sorry I took so long. ready to get down to business?"

Frisk was ready; she didn't have the luxury not to be. She nodded her head.

"great. so, long time ago, and I'm talkin' _looong._ like, way longer than one of my famous hot cats. maybe even as long as two of them. speaking of which, buy one get one deal going on for those."

"WOWIE! TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE?"

"no, you get the one that you buy."

"OH, WELL THAT MAKES SENSE, I SUPPOSE."

"On task, please?" Frisk interrupted, crossing her arms at the skeletons' antics. Lord, but they really wouldn't last two seconds topside. Thankfully they were safe down here to act so irresponsibly, charming as it was.

"right, my bad. so, long time ago, way before our time, humans and monsters used to live in peace. things went wrong, as they usually do, and there was a big war between the two. we lost, and got sealed Underground by a magic barrier put up by the humans. that's history that every monster knows."

"Run that last part by me again? A 'magic' barrier?" Frisk asked, head cocked to one side. She had to have heard that wrong.

"yeah huh."

"You're telling me that ancient Humanity used magic to defeat the monsters and that's what's keeping me trapped down here?"

"got it in one, chief."

Frisk could only shake her head, rubbing her forehead. This couldn't really be happening, could it? But seeing as she was down here talking to to living skeletons, she supposed there wasn't much to do about it.

"All right. Yeah, I can work with this. Okay."

"is magic really so hard to believe for you? you're practically swimming in it."

Frisk just stared at him, waiting for him to explain himself further.

"your armor. or something on you, at any rate. I can see it," Sans pointed at her, and as he spoke, she thought she could see his left eye glow blue for a moment. Sure, why not.

"Titan armor is powered by . . . not magic," Frisk replied. The Aufhassen Drive was of the highest security clearance, Black-level. She didn't fully understand how it even worked; she was pretty sure no one did. It just . . . worked. The best way she'd heard it explained was a miniaturized quantum fusion-antimatter reactor, but that didn't nearly do it justice. There weren't many of them, even considering the general scarcity of materiel, and there were . . . design defects with regrettable side effects. But they worked, and presumably the VOLUSPA required one for maximum firing effect, which is why she'd been assigned the experimental weapon. If Sans was saying that he could _see_ the Aufhassen reaction, then . . . well, that was an unsettling thought. But it certainly wasn't magic. "Up to this moment, there was no such thing as magic."

"guess you all forgot about it when you forgot about us, huh?" Sans shrugged his shoulders again. He sounded . . . quite jaded.

"Guess so. So, this "barrier" is human magic? And there's no way out?"

"THE KING WILL FIND A WAY!" Papyrus piped in. "HE PROMISED TO, AND HE ALWAYS KEEPS HIS PROMISES! THAT'S WHY HE'S THE KING!"

"yeah, he's barry reliable," Sans chuckled, but Frisk could see a shiftiness in his eyes, a hesitation to continue. Frisk suspected she wouldn't like what he was about to say next. He was about to speak, but seemed to change his mind, zeroing in on her. "you know what? why don't we take turns. let us know some about you before I keep yammering?"A change of the subject. Hmm.

"YES, PLEASE. THE LONGER HE TALKS THE MORE LIKELY HE IS TO KEEP MAKING PUNS," Papyrus cast a sidelong glance to his brother, who wore the absolute guiltiest expression one could imagine on a strange, emoting skull face.

" . . . I can't promise I can answer."

"WELL, WHY DID YOU COME DOWN?"

" . . . it wasn't on purpose."

"you were fighting, yeah?" Sans asked.

"Yes. There was . . . an ambush. Our dropship was hit."

"guess that explains the rumbling."

"WHO ARE YOU FIGHTING?"

"The Authority. Coalition of alien races," Frisk replied, her voice terse. "You've never seen them down here?"

"nope, just us monsters."

" . . . DO YOU HAVE TO FIGHT? IT SEEMS LIKE SUCH A SHAME," Papyrus asked. Frisk just stared at him, unbelieving. He wanted to be in the monster's version of the armed forces and was asking a question like that?

"It is my duty," Frisk replied matter-of-factly. It was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's why I exist."

That seemed to leave the two of them at a loss for words, trading glances with each other. Frisk wasn't too surprised; she was starting to get a decent picture of life down here. They were incredibly sheltered (living in a mountain will do that). She didn't expect them to understand. Just to cooperate.

"My turn?" Frisk asked. Sans nodded. "How do I leave?"

Sans was about to answer when he was interrupted by a sudden shrill chirping, some sort of blaring arrangement of tones. Frisk threw herself to her feet, the noise was so sudden, hand already on the hilt of her combat knife. Sans froze in front of her, tensing up, and Papyrus . . . didn't notice at all, evidently, as he had pulled out some kind of device and was holding it to his head.

"HELLO? O-OH! UM, C-CAPTAIN UNDYNE! OF COURSE I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT OUR LESSON! I WAS ON MY WAY! IN FACT, I WAS ACTUALLY THERE, BUT I, UM, LOST MY PHONE! OH, HERE IT IS!" Papyrus stammered his way out of the door, poking his head back in briefly to shout, "SO SORRY HUMAN, BUT I HAVE TO RUN! PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE AND WAIT HERE FOR ME TO COME BACK AND SHOW YOU YOUR CELL! SANS, KEEP . . . DOING WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" With that, he slammed the door and ran off.

So it must have been some kind of communication device. That's all it was. Frisk let out a held breath, hand dropping from her knife and picking up the stool that she'd knocked to the ground. Sans relaxed as well, chuckling to himself as Frisk sat back down.

"Sorry . . . loud noises," Frisk explained, tapping her ear.

"'sokay. never heard a ringtone before?" Sans asked. Frisk shook her head, _no_. "huh. thought that one woulda been more normal." It was Frisk's turn to shrug this time. Frisk knew that she'd been kept from much of the world; she was Sovereign, after all. Grown to fight. Such things weren't for her. Sometimes it had struck her as odd, how . . . disconnected she was from even her fellow soldiers. They'd speak of holidays and traditions, jokes and movies, and Frisk could only shake her head and go back to her weapon maintenance. Why should she know of such mundane matters, of civilian customs and materialism? They didn't impact her ability to wage war, and that was what mattered.

"You were going to say?" Frisk asked. Sans got that disconcerting look again.

"uh, right. so, how to get out. listen, I'm telling you this because of a promise to a friend of mine. aight?" Frisk nodded. "okay, so there's one way out. past the king; past Asgore. but he'll kill you. he needs your soul to break the Barrier."

Now it was Frisk's turn to stiffen up. She knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Why?" Why her "soul?" Probably some magical reason, she supposed.

"that's how the human mages designed the Barrier. need both a human and a monster soul to get out. but if he gets seven human souls, he can break it. he, uh, wants the latter. war against humanity and all that."

Now the pieces fall into place. These monsters were another threat, after all. If this "Asgore" managed to break the Barrier, he'd continue his ancient war with Humanity. Another race trying to kill them was something mankind could ill-afford; they couldn't even handle the eighteen of the Authority, much less add yet another one that was already right under their feet. As a Sovereign operator, Frisk had the ability to modify her mission parameters as she saw fit in order to carry out her duty. This King Asgore was now a threat; she couldn't let him threaten the ISAF.

"whoa, whoa, hey now, I see those gears ticking in your head," Sans held his hands out, easing her back down; Frisk hadn't even realized that she was rising. "look, there's no reason things need to get ugly. so long as the king don't find out, you're safe here. Paps, he won't snitch if he knows it'd hurt you. he's pretty cool like that."

"I can't stay here," Frisk pointed up as she spoke, her voice tense. "They need me back on the surface. Do you understand? I _need_ to find Chara and get back to my mission."

"well, if you leave, he'll try to kill you. but welp, I tried. guess it's not my problem," Sans threw his hands up in the air. Not very tenacious, was he? But that worked well for her. "just promise you'll at least wait here for Papyrus to get back? it would really mean a lot to him, and he means well."

" . . . all right." Frisk could look for signs of Chara around the area before she moved on, so that worked out fine for her. But she would have to move on; she had no choice. The Authority wouldn't wait for her. Humanity's future rested on her shoulders . . . just the thought made her stomach roil. She couldn't fail. If she didn't make it out, if she didn't make it to Oceana, everyone would die. This was the final push.

She couldn't get the image of the Kestrel burning out of her mind. The _Break of Dawn_ crumbling in-atmosphere, the shattered wrecks of so many others. So many dead. Were they all . . . ?

No, they made it. They had to have made it. Frisk would find Chara, and they'd do whatever it took to punch their way through that Barrier and regroup with the Task Force. And then they'd keep going, however long it took.

"great, thanks, kiddo," Sans winked at her in . . . appreciation? "my brother's pretty cool, isn't he?"

" . . . he's nice," Frisk admitted. Enthusiastic, bombastic, trying to capture her, but nice nonetheless.

"yeah, he's the best. which is why I _really_ want to stress this." As Sans spoke, his voice seemed to get deeper, a strange intensity filling the air. The hairs on the back of Frisk's neck stood on end, and she noticed with a quick inhale that the pinpricks of light that were Sans' eyes had gone out, leaving only dark hollows that reminded her only too much of those horrible living weapons of the Authority.

 **"** **you touch him again and you won't have to worry about Asgore. capiche?"** The entire room seemed to darken, and Frisk nearly fired off the flares in her suit by instinct to ward off the incoming attack, but the rational part of her brain spoke up enough to make her realize she was still inside, there was no pitch-black fog devouring the light.

"I told you. I don't want to fight if I can avoid it," Frisk answered carefully. She didn't want to, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't, and rest assured; she was quite confident she could wipe out every last one of them. She could recognize a threat when she heard one (though she didn't know what that last part meant). She considered just opening fire, dealing with the danger right here and now . . . but some part of her still hoped that she could continue this new trend of non-violence. The rest of her doubted it would last. "And I do like him."

"great, glad that's settled," Sans hopped to his feet, and just as quickly as it had come on, the pressure in the room lifted and the lights seemed to brighten. "well, all that talking's made me bone tired as well as hungry, so I think I need another break. I'm heading to Grillbs' for some grub. you wanna come?"

" . . . no thanks," Frisk shook her head, getting to her feet as well. Talk about mood whiplash.

"all right, suit yourself," he waved goodbye before stepping out the door, leaving her alone. She supposed nothing was really keeping her from just moving on, but she did mean it when she said that she liked him; she liked both of them. And she said that she would wait, and so long as it wasn't too long, she didn't mind a bit of a break. It would let her learn more about this new race, give her a bit to recover from her fall, and hopefully find some clues as to Chara's whereabouts.

Her plan set (in her mind, at least), she made for the door as well, closing it gingerly behind her.


	7. Chapter 6 - A Faint Light

I'm so busy please someone send help

 _PART TWO:_

 _THREE STAGES OF LIBERATION_

 _FREEDOM, STAGE ONE_

 _ **A prisoner gets free**_

 _SOCRATES: So now, I replied, watch the process whereby the prisoners are set free from their chains and, along with that, cured of their lack of insight, and likewise consider what kind of lack of insight must be if the following were to happen to those who were chained._

 _ **Walks back to the fire**_

 _SOCRATES: Whenever any of them was unchained and was forced to stand up suddenly, to turn_

 _around, to walk, and to look up toward the light, in each case the person would be able to do this only with pain and because of the flickering brightness would be unable to look at those things whose shadows he previously saw._

 _ **Is questioned about the objects**_

 _SOCRATES: If all this were to happen to the prisoner, what do you think he would say if someone_

 _were to inform him that what he saw before were [mere] trifles but that now he was much nearer to beings; and that, as a consequence of now being turned toward what is more in being, he also saw more correctly?_

 _ **The answer he gives**_

 _SOCRATES: And if someone were [then] to show him any of the things that were passing by and_

 _forced him to answer the question about what it was, don't you think that he would be a wit's end and in addition would consider that what he previously saw [with is own eyes] was more unhidden than what was now being shown [to him by someone else]._

 _GLAUCON: Yes, absolutely._

 _ **Looking at the fire-light itself**_

 _SOCRATES: And if someone even forced him to look into the glare of the fire, would his eyes not_

 _hurt him, and would he not then turn away and flee [back] to that which he is capable of looking at And would he not decide that [what he could see before without any help] was in fact clearer than what was now being shown to him?_

 _GLAUCON: Precisely._

 _FREEDOM, STAGE TWO_

 _ **Out of the cave into daylight**_

 _SOCRATES: Now, however, if someone, using force, were to pull him [who had been freed from his_

 _chains] away from there and to drag him up the cave's rough and steep ascent and not to let go of him until he had dragged him out into the light of the sun..._

 _ **Pain, rage, blindness**_

 _SOCRATES: ...would not the one who had been dragged like this feel, in the process, pain and rage?_

 _And when he got into the sunlight, wouldn't his eyes be filled with the glare, and wouldn't he thus be unable to see any of the things that are now revealed to him as the unhidden?_

 _GLAUCON: He would not be able to do that at all, at least not right away._

 _ **Getting used to the light**_

 _SOCRATES: It would obviously take some getting accustomed, I think, if it should be a matter of_

 _taking into one's eyes that which is up there outside the cave, in the light of the sun._

 _ **Shadows and reflections**_

 _SOCRATES: And in this process of acclimitization he would first and most easily be able to look at_

 _(1) shadows and after that (2) the images of people and the rest of things as they are reflected in water._

 _ **Looking at things directly**_

 _SOCRATES: Later, however, he would be able to view (3) the things themselves [the beings, instead_

 _of the dim reflections]. But within the range of such things, he might well contemplate what there is in the heavenly dome, and this dome itself, more easily during the night by looking at the light of the stars and the moon, [more easily, that is to say,] than by looking at the sun and its glare during the day._

 _GLAUCON: Certainly._

 _FREEDOM, STAGE THREE: THE SUN_

 _ **Looking at the sun itself**_

 _SOCRATES: But I think that finally he would be in the condition to look at (4) the sun itself, not just_

 _at its reflection whether in water or wherever else it might appear, but at the sun itself, as it is in and of_

 _itself and in the place proper to it and to contemplate of what sort it is._

 _GLAUCON: It would necessarily happen this way._

 _ **Thoughts about the sun: its nature and functions**_

 _SOCRATES: And having done all that, by this time he would also be able to gather the following_

 _about the sun: (1) that it is that which grants both the seasons and the years; (2) it is that which governs whatever there is in the now visible region of sunlight; and (3) that it is also the cause of all those things that the people dwelling in the cave have before they eyes in some way or other._

 _GLAUCON: It is obvious that he would get to these things - the sun and whatever stands in its light_

 _\- after he had gone out beyond those previous things, the merely reflections and shadows._

 _ **Thoughts about the cave**_

 _SOCRATES: And then what? If he again recalled his first dwelling, and the "knowing" that passes as_

 _the norm there, and the people with whom he once was chained, don't you think he would consider himselflucky because of the transformation that had happened and, by contrast, feel sorry for them?_

 _GLAUCON: Very much so._

 _ **What counts for "wisdom" in the cave**_

 _SOCRATES: However, what if among the people in the previous dwelling place, the cave, certain_

 _honors and commendations were established for whomever most clearly catches sight of what passes by and also best remembers which of them normally is brought by first, which one later, and which ones at the same time? And what if there were honors for whoever could most easily foresee which one might come by next? What would the liberated prisoner now prefer?_

 _SOCRATES: Do you think the one who had gotten out of the cave would still envy those within the_

 _cave and would want to compete with them who are esteemed and who have power? Or would not he or she much rather wish for the condition that Homer speaks of, namely "to live on the land [above ground] as the paid menial of another destitute peasant"? Wouldn't he or she prefer to put up with absolutely anything else rather than associate with those opinions that hold in the cave and be that kind of human being?_

 _GLAUCON: I think that he would prefer to endure everything rather than be that kind of human_

 _being._

 **-"Republic," VII – The Allegory of the Cave (Part II), Plato**

Chapter 6 – A Faint Light

The snow crunched underneath her boots as Frisk stepped out from the warm comfort of the skeletons' house, the cold striking her once more and buffeting her hair. Cold was one of the few discomforts that Frisk was fortunate enough to typically avoid; her suit maintained a consistent temperature to maintain optimal fighting conditions, and so as a result, she was unused to the freezing climate. Not to mention how exposed and vulnerable she felt without staying fully inside her armor. But, as much as she would have liked putting her helmet back on and isolating herself from the snow, the tactical social advantage she seemed to gain with it off seemed too ideal to lose, so she kept the final piece of her armor stowed on the back of her collarplate.

Frisk took a look at the ground; there were her and the brothers' footsteps heading to the house, and those far-spread steps would be Papyrus running off to . . . whatever had merited his attention, but there was no fresh set of prints leading into town. Meaning Sans had either lied about where he was going, or he hadn't walked. Either was equally likely, but considering the stunt he had pulled earlier, Frisk wondered what alternative means of travel were available to a monster. Just what could their "magic" do? Flight? Teleportation? It certainly warranted investigation, considering they could be future enemies. But for now, she let it go.

The first building she reached was the "Librarby," as good a place to start as any. She walked in and was greeted by several bookshelves populated (some sparsely) with various magazines and texts, arranged by color, with a monster she hadn't seen before behind the counter, buried in a book of his (?) own. He was green, with a beige turtleneck. Three others were seated around a round table atop a red rug, minding their own business. The two in the back looked fine, but the one up front was a bit . . . strange, with his red horns and one big eye and no actual body and all. Just what was the common link between these monsters? Were they all one species, or a conglomeration like the Authority?

Oh. Was this a monster "library?" She supposed it made sense, though she'd never actually been in a human one; back during the liberation of Charlotte, they'd fought through the downtown center and been pinned by a sniper team holed up in the city library. A lot of books flew out, smoldering, after the airstrike. Along with . . . other things.

But she'd made the connection.

"Excuse me," Frisk got the attention of the monster behind the counter. "Have you seen anyone in green and yellow armor recently? Same height and hair?"

"Nah, sorry man," he replied with a shrug. "But I'll ask everyone to keep an eye out." The red eye-guy at the table looked over and gave her a thumbs-up as the other two laughed.

Frisk didn't get it.

"Feel free to check out some of the books, though. And yes, we know the sign is misspelled."

Frisk didn't know that.

"Thanks," Frisk looked over at the bookshelves. Her curious won out, leading her over. She scanned through the titles: an essay on monster funerals, which was irrelevant. A biology text on humans, which was . . . disconcerting. Seemed to confirm her suspicions about the human-monster magical disparity, though.

A different one mentioned a fatal weakness of the monsters: killer intent apparently made them easier to kill? How did a people such as this survive this long? Frisk's thoughts turned to Chara; would just a glance from her sister strike these monsters down, if that was all it took? That couldn't be real, right? She supposed it was useful knowledge to have, regardless. Though, to be honest, she wasn't really into hate. Not like Chara was. Frisk just wanted everyone to make it home alive, Chara first and foremost.

She stepped to the next bookshelf, and pulled out a book: "Monster History Part 4." Maybe this would answer some questions? She flipped it open and started reading:

 _"_ _Fearing the humans no longer, we moved out of our city, Home. We braved harsh cold, damp swampland, and searing heat . . . until we reached what we now call our capital, New Home. Again, our King is really bad at names . . .?"_

Hmm. So, she had the name of their capital, and a brief overview of some of the topography down here. Though, what were swamps and deserts doing underground? Well, she assumed deserts. Maybe they were deep enough to hit lava flows, but she found that unlikely.

There were a few more she skimmed through: "100 Easy Recipes," "World Atlas" (very out of date), "Big Book of Puzzles . . ." oh, this one might be useful.

Finally, there was one last book that caught Frisk's attention. She pulled it out; it was threadbare, only a few pages. As she read through, she felt a strange prickling; it talked about how monsters were made out of "love, hope, and compassion." How humans didn't need those to exist. She stared at the pages for longer than she'd have liked, eyes moving across the printed text time after time. Was that true? She glanced at her hand, holding the book. At her fingers. She supposed it was. It was . . . not a pleasant feeling. It made her stomach hurt, like after finding another dead squadmate, and she wished that she hadn't read the book. She didn't like it. She put it back on the shelf and walked out, wishing more than ever that Chara was here.

Moving on, she passed "Grillby's," not bothering to return there; there was little new info she could gain, and she'd prefer to not run back into Sans. Seemed for the best right now.

So Frisk kept going, moving past where she saw some monsters gathered around an eastern hemlock. The tree was . . . strange. Decorated up with lights and garlands, star on top, with boxes wrapped in a variety of colors and designs below, red ribbons fluffed up. She'd seen similar at Nimue Air Force Base before, maybe . . . two years ago? Three? It was hard to tell the years apart, sometimes. But the base crew had done something similar during December; she wasn't sure why. Presumably some kind of holiday (Christmas? She remembered "Merry Christmas" thrown around a lot), but she hadn't been given any details personally. She hadn't asked, either; not her place. She knew her role in life; she'd been reminded of it too much not to.

How strange, though, that these monsters would share a custom with humans above. Maybe they got it from us? Cultural diffusion? Likely not important, but still . . . how interesting.

She spoke with them a little; the bears didn't have much to offer, but the yellow lizard seemed excited about the stripes on her armor, saying how it marked them both as kids, since she had stripes, too. Frisk found the logic to be faulty, to say the least.

Moving on, she kept going to the next major building of interest, though it looked more like two with a gateway connecting the pair. Two signs marked both of the entrances, one reading "Shop" and the other "Inn," with light pouring out from frosted windows and soft, melodic tones that pulled at Frisk and brought out a strange yearning she wasn't entirely comfortable with (this town seemed to have that effect on her as a whole). She considered just passing it by, but ultimately settled on entering. Finding Chara came first.

The door swung open with a squeak and a chiming of bells, and Frisk stepped in to be greeted by a warmly lit storefront of some kind, hidden behind a study and polished cherry countertop. Glancing down the hall, she could see a second counter with a tall set of stairs that led up to a second floor.

"Ho there! What can I do for you?" A crisp, professional voice called out from a backroom, footsteps thumping as she stepped out behind the counter. She was a monster too (obviously), this one a giant rabbit. Frisk found herself immediately entranced by her big, fuzzy ears that poked out from a straw hat. Her white fur glinted like fire in the golden light, and her strong arms were crossed over a white tanktop. "My, my, well you must be the carrot everyone's all abuzz about!"

Frisk nodded after a moment's hesitation, feeling her face heat up; she was staring. She stepped fully inside, approaching the counter.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions, ma'am."

"Sure, sure. And please, call me Maria. That's my sister Mary down the hall. This is my shop, and she runs the inn," Maria offered her hand to Frisk.

"Firsk-STF15," Frisk reached over the counter to shake her hand.

"So, what did you need to know?"

"Have you seen anyone else like me . . . around? Brown hair, green armor?"

"Friend, huh? Well, I keep my ears close to the ground, but can't say that I have. Sorry, darling."

"It's alright. One more thing. Have you seen anything strange or different around?"

"No, it's been pretty much same old, same old 'round here," Maria shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. Her ears bounced a little with the motion; it was captivating. "Why?"

"Just curious," Frisk broke herself out of her trance to answer, breathing a sigh of relief on the inside but keeping a straight face. No Authority had followed them down, then; or rather, no one around had _seen_ any Authority. Infiltrator units were still a possibility. Always a possibility. But she could breath a little easier.

"Anything else, hon? Cider, bisicle? Cinnamon bunny? Maybe a room for the night? They're cheap, and you look like you could use a break."

Frisk wasn't sure how she looked, but she doubted it was good; four hours of sleep over four days of prolonged combat would do that. She could feel the bags under her eyes, the bruises still healing. Sometimes, it was hard to stay alert and vigilant, and the dull throbbing in her side and legs was getting worse from moving. Overall, an ache had settled in, and her head had a faint pounding. A break would be nice. But the war wouldn't wait for her, and she'd been through much worse in the pst. Besides, the stims would make sure she was awake to fight.

"No thanks, ma'am. I mean, Maria." Maria chuckled at that, her cheeks bunching up in a wide grin that seemed to brighten her whole face.

"Well, aren't you just a dear? You know, some of the fellas were saying you were scary, but you're just the sweetest thing, ain't ya?"

"Uh." This . . . was a first.

"Here. On me," Maria passed her a wrapped . . . rabbit? Presumably the cinnamon bunny she'd mentioned before. "A little pick-me-up."

"Thank you," Frisk accepted the gift, looking over it in her hand. She guessed it was food of some kind, but she'd called it a "pick-me-up." Didn't look like an upper. Fortified, maybe? Still, it was nice of her. Frisk placed it carefully in an empty pack.

"Take care of yourself out there!" Maria waved as Frisk turned to leave. She nodded back in reply before stepping out into the cold, only to be greeted by the loud wavings of Papyrus, only a few feet away. He must have finished with his errand.

"OH! HUMAN! IT'S I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! I HAVE FINISHED WITH MY ERRAND!" He waved at her enthusiastically with both hands. "I'M SO GLAD YOU STAYED! I'LL ADMIT, I WAS WORRED FOR A BIT, BUT HERE YOU ARE! I'M SORRY I LOST FAITH IN YOU!"

"Well, I said I'd wait for you . . ." Frisk found her face heating up again. "How did your report go?"

"OH, WELL, I, UM, DIDN'T MENTION YOU. I MEAN, YOU'RE HARDLY EVEN MY PRISONER YET! WE NEED TO AT LEAST SOLVE SOME OF MY PUZZLES BEFORE I CAN BE SAID TO HAVE VANQUISHED YOU! NYEH HEH HEH!" Was that how it worked . . .?

"So, you want to try these puzzles out with me?"

OF COURSE! THEY'RE FOOLPROOF, OF COURSE, BUT I NEED TO TEST THEIR FOOLPROOFISHNESS FIRSTHAND!"

Frisk still wasn't convinced there weren't traps, as harmless as Papyrus seemed.

"Why don't we start off easy, then? Go back to your house and try out your . . ." What was it called again?

"JUNIOR JUMBLE?!" Papyrus squealed with what Frisk assumed was joy.

"Sure?"

"WONDERFUL IDEA, HUMAN! THE JUNIOR JUMBLE IS A PERFECT BONDING – I MEAN, _CAPTURING_ ACTIVITY! THOUGH IT IS NO EASY FEAT, I WARN YOU!"

"That'll work," Frisk couldn't help but grin, the soldier falling in line with the skeleton. "Lead the way."


	8. Chapter 7 - When the Dreamer Awakes

New chapter and that means comment response time wooooo

Someguythatlovesundertale: Yeah, I realize the last one was pretty excessive, but essentially I had already planned out that there would be one part per chapter for three chapters and didn't want to break it. It probably won't happen again haha

TravisUmbra: To be honest I didn't really think of a number as it was just "big." Maybe over 100? Maybe 1000? There's only like what, 100 monsters in Undertale? Frisk has killed significantly more than that, so make of that what you will.

I appreciate the interest and the criticism, so thank you all once more and hope you enjoy!

 _PART THREE:_

 _THE PRISONER RETURNS TO THE CAVE_

 _ **The return: blindness**_

 _SOCRATES: And now, I responded, consider this: If this person who had gotten out of the cave were_

 _to go back down again and sit in the same place as before, would he not find in that case, coming suddenly out of the sunlight, that his eyes ere filled with darkness?"_

 _GLAUCON: Yes, very much so._

 _ **The debate with the other prisoners**_

 _SOCRATES: Now if once again, along with those who had remained shackled there, the freed person_

 _had to engage in the business of asserting and maintaining opinions about the shadows - while his eyes are still weak and before they have readjusted, an adjustment that would require quite a bit of time - would he not then be exposed to ridicule down there? And would they not let him know that he had gone up but only in order to come back down into the cave with his eyes ruined - and thus it certainly does not pay to go up._

 _ **And the final outcome:**_

 _SOCRATES: And if they can get hold of this person who takes it in hand to free them from their_

 _chains and to lead them up, and if they could kill him, will they not actually kill him?_

 _GLAUCON: They certainly will._

 **-"Republic," VII – The Allegory of the Cave (Part II), Plato**

Chapter 7 – What Happens When The Dreamer Awakes?

Sans needed a drink. A stiff one. Maybe two. Maybe even upgrade to mustard.

Well, maybe let's not get _too_ crazy.

But this whole business with the kid was giving him a headache. He _wanted_ to believe that she would be different, that things could work out, but he'd spent enough time down here to know that that was wishful thinking at best. He'd be stuck here, forever.

Now he really needed that drink.

He tromped over to his favorite hangout for the third time today (he might have popped in for a pre-breakfast snack earlier), glancing back to see the kind closing his door and setting out towards town herself. Probably gonna ask around about her buddy. She was dedicated, he gave her that. She just had to keep that nice streak going and leave off the heavy-handedness.

Chuckling to himself, he pushed open the door to Grillby's and was met by that wonderfully familiar scent of oil, grease, and smoke, a wave that enveloped him and beckoned him forward. He could have sworn there was even a cartoon finger waving him in. Who was he to say no?

"Heeey, Sansy!" Quacker Jack called out to him, wobbling in his stool and a slight slur to his voice. He wasn't drunk, though; he actually had _better_ balance intoxicated. No, he was just a wobbly kind of guy. "What's shaking?"

"not much. I lost my maracas." Ba dum tsh. Thank you, thank you.

"So, how 'bout that human, huh?" Mike asked from the back as Sans walked up to his favorite crooked stool and plopped in. "Pretty crazy stuff."

"she's alright," Sans shrugged. "hasn't burned the place down yet. no offense, Grillbz."

The fire elemental just shook his head, stepping up from the kitchen with a rag in his hands. He slung it over his shoulder with a sizzle and propped his elbow up on the countertop. Also with a sizzle, but that probably didn't merit mention.

"So. Your place?" Grillby asked, his voice crackling like kindling. He was a man of few words. Sans could appreciate that, but what he appreciated more was the bottle of premium ketchup that he slid over to Sans' empty hand.

"yeah, we had a nice chat, the three of us. then the two of us," Sans popped the top off with a twist and took a drink as Grillby pulled out his own special brew from under the counter, poured himself a finger. The smell hit Sans immediately: rubbing alcohol.

"Anything happen?" They clinked glasses. Grillby took a sip and flared up as it went down. Sans had to admit, it was pretty cool.

"nah," Sans said after a sip of his own. "Paps had to head out, so me n' the kid had some alone time. she's . . . something, all right."

Grillby just took another swig and waited for Sans to continue.

"quiet. polite. kinda passive, even. 'less you flip her switch, apparently," he gestured to the floorboard that Papyrus' head had bounced off of, leaving a dent. Thank goodness he drank his milk as a babybones. "she's . . . nice. kinda curious, almost sheltered. and she scares the living hell out of me."

"Eyes," Grillby nodded.

"yeah," Sans agreed. He hadn't thought of it, but something there in those hazel eyes said all he needed to know. Namely, "I'll kill you and everyone you love if I have to, so please don't make me have to." Although, the armor and the weapons and the body stance and the whole "Sovereign Special Killman Squad Force" thing also contributed.

"her gear's weird, too. never seen anything like it," Sans shrugged and took a long pull. "but I dunno, Grillby. I'm willing to give her a pass. genuinely seems like a good kid, or tryin' to be one. gets along well with Paps. and it sounds like she's seen some real bad stuff."

"Fair," Grillby tipped his head in acknowledgment, yellow flashes where his eyebrows would be raising. Sans wished he had eyebrows. "I'll give her a chance." Grillby had seen quite a bit as well; he probably understood better than most around here.

"cheers to chances," Sans raised his bottle and downed a big gulp, wincing a bit as it went down. "by the way, you seen anything unusual around? her friend-o?"

"Just the tremors," Grillby shook his head. No second human. Sans though he'd be relieved, but he felt bad for Frisk; be a damn shame if her friend hadn't made it after all.

"kid mentioned those. evidently some big fight up above," Sans gestured at the ceiling. "she's a soldier."

"Too young."

"apparently not."

"Hmm," Grillby scoffed, shaking his head with a frown. Sans had to agree as well; concept of a kid that young, with that many kills . . . there was something seriously wrong up there. Or down here, now. Now there was a fun thought.

Grillby finished his firewater (ha ha) with a gout of flame before grunting about getting back to work. Sans supposed it was tiem for him to mosey on as well, so he drained his bottle and charged it to his tab, as usual, before waving everyone a fond farewell and heading out.

He should probably get back to his station at some point. Undyne would be furious if she caught him slacking at a time like this, but more importantly (for him, at least), he might catch a glimpse of the other kid if they came from the old Ruins. But first, he needed his pillow. For, uh, vigilance.

He started back to their place, passing the stuffed mailbox and the not-so-stuffed one, when he heard Papyrus cry out in anguish. Before he even knew it, he was in the house, in the living room, eye flaring up . . .

. . . Papyrus was laying on the floor on his stomach, hands on his head as he wailed over the Big Book of Junior Jumbles open before him.

"NYOOOHOHOO! WE WERE SO CLOSE! I THOUGHT FOR SURE WE HAD IT THAT TIME!"

The kiddo was there, too, on her knees beside Papyrus, saying nothing but patting Papyrus on the shoulder.

What in the world was going on here?  
Frisk turned back to the jumble, pointing at a string of letter in a row before cutting diagonal and then hard right.

"NO, THAT DOESN'T WORK," Papyrus said.

"Why not?" Frisk glanced over, head tilted to the side.

"IT CAN BE FORWARDS, BACKWARDS, UP, DOWN, OR DIAGONAL, BUT IT HAS TO BE A STRAIGHT LINE! THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SO VEXING!"

"Ohhh. Like . . . this?"

"EUREKA! YOU'VE DONE IT, FRISK! I KNEW YOU WERE A NATURAL PUZZLER!" Papyrus leapt up to his feet, tried to lift Frisk up, failed, and settled for a big hug. The kid looked . . . very awkward, to say the least, but after a moment returned the embrace with one arm, a confused look on her face.

Well, ain't that something.

The kid noticed him then, locked eyes with him. Sans just gave her a wink and a grin, holding one finger up in a quiet "shush" before turning and leaving his house through one of his shortcuts (but not without his pillow first. Priorities, after all) and ending up outside Grillby's. Those were a convenient trick of his, let him get anywhere from anywhere, or just about. And he didn't even need to change out of his comfy slippers. Handy, huh?

They could be draining in a different way than walking, though, she he hoofed it the rest of the way, shuffling past the members of the Canine Unit and the dastardly Gauntlet of Deadly Terror (still unused), the tile maze and the lamp he'd placed for just the right occasion for some situational humor, before ending up at his summer home, the ol' shack. He tossed his pillow up onto the chair but kept going; he wanted to let the lady behind the door know about the kid. Now that he had a better idea of her, he was sure she'd like to hear about her; the lady seemed to like both kids and stories about his cool bro, so she'd love this one.

He crossed over the rickety bridge, through the fence that was so big even Asgore could fit through (well, maybe not that big), and down the snowy path through the forest. He'd first walked down this way for peace and quite before, some alone time, and though it now served a different purpose, he still appreciated it for the tranquility.

Sans waved over at Alphy's camera (she hated that) before getting the feeling that something was . . . off. He glanced around, looked at the big doors.

It was open. They'd never been open before, long as he could remember. Ever.

Had the lady decided to come out? No, he would have ran into her on his way here. It hadn't been open for too long, the snow blowing into the passage beyond the great carved doors and only starting to pile up.

He reluctantly took a step inside the dark hallway, the wind a whistling moan as it blew past him, and it felt like even his slippers were echoing down the emptiness.

This was . . . not good.

" . . . hullo? lady?" Sans called out, pressing farther in. He really wanted to just stop and go back to his post, but something told him he needed to keep moving.

He could see a light up ahead, illuminating a patch of grass. Odd.

There was a large chamber past that. A strong smell hit him as he walked in, something burning, sulfurous and heady, acrid and sour, almost like a metallic dirt, and it made him a little dizzy. He glanced around, behind, above; huge chunks of the wall were missing, blasted off, holes in the craters and chunks and clouds of smoke still wafting around, following unseen air currents. There, not far form the opening: a pile of . . . clothes?

He took a step forward, a clinking underneath catching his attention. He lifted his foot to find these odd brass casings, some large, some small, lying around the floor, glinting up at him. He took a closer look at the rags on the ground, ripped and covered in . . .

Dust.

That had been the lady.

He suddenly felt a chill run down his spine like an electric current, his breath growing hitched.

Sans had just found the kid's partner.


	9. Chapter 8 - The Long March Home

Oh boysies things have started to kick off

Also to clarify about my previous statement about LV levels I don't especially pay much mind to gameplay mechanics when writing, so like high level doesn't mean unkillable it was just to show that they've killed a bunch of aliens. Story wins out.

 _I cursed in church again, and the hand-claps all fell quiet  
I watched the statue of you cry  
The candle is blown, so we start the black march home  
Through a stale and silent night_

 _There's a funeral in your eyes and a drunk priest at your side  
Staggering sermons never wash  
There's no reproach, from the lit touch paper booth  
Got stubborn and marrow and bastard bones  
Should we just get home, sleep this off  
Throw some sorry's and then, do it all again, well_

 _Folded arms clutch on his side  
The bridge is out and the river is high  
This is a march death march, march death march  
Yeah, there isn't a God, so I save my breath  
Pray silence for the road ahead  
And this march death march, march death march  
I went too far_

 _As we walk through an hour long fragment pause  
No grain of truce can be born  
My bridge is burned, perhaps we'll shortly learn  
That it was arson all along  
Can we just get home, sleep this off  
Throw some sorry's and then, do it all again  
Well like father said, less heart and more head  
So unfurrow that brow, and plant those seeds of doubt_

 _Folded arms clutch on his side  
The bridge is out and the river is high  
And this march death march, march death march  
There isn't a God, so I save my breath  
Pray silence for the road ahead  
And this march death march, march death march  
The dead balloons and withered flowers  
Sorry cannot save me now  
And this march death march, march death march  
Think I went too far_

– " **Late March, Death March," Scott Hutchinson**

Chapter 8 – The Long March Home

Frisk let out a puff of frustration; the northern exit out of town had been a dead end, just a dog throwing cubes of ice into the river (she didn't even question it at this point). She'd excused herself from Papyrus' after Sans had left, continuing the search, but she was now officially out of options. She had to move west, out of town. Chara clearly was not here. She either hand fallen farther ahead, or had already moved on unseen. Either way, Frisk couldn't afford to waste any more time, despite her . . . reluctance to leave. She had enjoyed the skeletons' company, enjoyed the quiet little town of Snowdin. But duty called, and she must answer.

As she passed their house one last time, she thought of the last conversation she'd had with Papyrus, when she'd bid him farewell after the successful jumble. She'd . . . felt bad, actually, especially after promising to stay but, dejected though he was, he hadn't stopped her, had wished her good luck in her search.

Papyrus was a good person.

She kept moving, the home fading into the distance behind her as the forest grew thicker, and a heavy fog began to creep up, hanging in the air and dampening her fine hair. The fog grew denser with every step, until Frisk could hardly see even with her enhanced vision. She reached back to her collarplate and slid her helmet back on, the seal securing with a satisfying pop, and the familiar HUD washed over her along with the feeling of completeness. A green light popped up to cinfirm that her armor was sealed as her vision amplification cut through the mists . . . to reveal a tall figure, waiting for her in the sunken clouds.

Papyrus.

"HUMAN. ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT SOME COMPLEX FEELINGS. FEELINGS LIKE THE ADMIRATION FOR ANOTHER'S PUZZLE-SOLVING SKILLS. THE JOY OF MEETING A LIKE MIND. THE DESIRE TO HAVE A COOL, SMART PERSON THINK YOU ARE COOL. THOSE FEELINGS . . . MUST BE WHAT YOU ARE FEELING RIGHT NOW!"

Um.

"I CAN HARDLY IMAGINE WHAT THAT MUST FEEL LIKE. AFTER ALL, I AM VERY GREAT. I DON'T EVER WONDER WHAT HAVING LOTS OF FRIENDS IS LIKE. I PITY YOU, LONELY HUMAN . . . BUT FEAR NOT! FOR I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL . . . NO . . ."

Papyrus paused then, looked away from her with trepidation in his eyes. Frisk knew where this was going, and hoped against hope that stopped. Please, don't let this be happening.

"I . . . I MUST CAPTURE YOU! THEN I CAN FULFILL MY LIFELONG DREAM!"

"Papyrus . . ."

"POWERFUL! POPULAR! PRESTIGIOUS! THAT'S PAPYRUS! THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD!"

"Papyrus. Please. Don't do this," Frisk begged, swallowing hard. There was a lump in her throat.

"DON'T WORRY, YOU'LL BE WELL TAKEN CARE OF. AND WE CAN DO MORE PUZZLES TOGETHER WHEN YOU'RE BACK IN OUR LIVING CELL!"

"Papyrus," Frisk warned, and her voice grew cold as the icy air of the Underground. "Stand down or I will put you down. Last warning." She spoke slowly, trying to force the message through. Papyrus still didn't understand just what it meant to fight. He didn't know what it meant to kill.

"EVEN IF I'M SITTING, I MUST STILL CAPTURE YOU!"

Frisk's fingers cracked, her fingers cramping into bent claws before folding into fists. Her breathing began to steady into her battle rhythm as her mind reconciled with her feelings. She was a soldier. Soldiers killed. His death fell under acceptable losses if it meant she could regroup with Chara and continue the mission. All of humanity was riding on her.

One small part of her still wanted to cry out for him to move, to please _just move_. But it was too late.

"EN GARDE!" Papyrus swept his arm back, his scarf flowing behind him in a crimson trail as bones began materializing around the skeleton, hovering in the air. Frisk unslung her battle rifle from her back, eyes zeroing in on her enemy as her hands automatically brought the weapon to her shoulder. She could feel the sympathetic combat system respond, feel the stims flowing through her as time seemed to stretch and slow, as her muscles tightened and her nerves burned.

It had been a nice dream. But that was all it had ever been.

Papyrus took the first shots, a half-dozen twirling femurs that flew at Frisk incredibly quickly, considering he hadn't touched them. But even with that magical speed, they were still far too slow. Firing solutions flashed in her peripheral as she opened fire on the lead projectile, depleted-uranium tipped 7.62x51mm rounds leaping out through the fog, clouds illuminated by the strobe of the muzzle flash, impacting and pulverizing the bones and sending the pieces scattering into the drifts. The report of her rifle echoed around them as she snapped to the next incoming bone, then the next, then the next, careful bursts of fire striking down the incoming threats. Papyrus just stared at her, as smoke wafted out from the vented barrel.

"WOWIE!" He exclaimed, eyes wide before settling for a determined expression. "YOU ARE INDEED A SUITABLE OPPONENT FOR ONE SUCH AS I!"

Frisk could have taken him down right there. He dropped his guard in the middle of a firefight to _compliment_ her? It made her wonder – did he actually want to hurt her? She knew she didn't want to hurt him.

She glanced past him, thought of a plan. Basic, but all she really needed to do was get past him. He didn't seem to be able to teleport like his brother, and once she was past, she was confident in her speed. She could deal with any consequences of leaving him alive later.

Her opportunity presented itself with he next attack, as waves of bones rushed towards her, popping in and out of the snow at various heights. Frisk fired up her main thrusters, the Aufheben drive roaring to life as crackles of white fire ignited along her back, thighs, and legs. Snow erupted into great plumes behind her as she dashed out of the way. The cascades of vertebrae followed her, curving in to cut her off, but she was much faster, and with a blast of the afterburners she'd left them behind, circling around Papyrus and making a break for the clearing past.

"CRAFTY! BUT LET'S SEE YOU RUN FROM MY SPECIAL ATTACK!"

Frisk was about to wonder what that even meant when multiple walls of teal bones suddenly sprang up directly in front, behind, and all around, no room to dodge or even to stop. All she could do was brace –

The magical attacks parted as she skidded to a stop, the final one going straight through her with only a slight buzz on her skin that left an odd taste in her mouth.

"HA! YOU'RE BLUE NOW! THAT'S MY ATTACK!" Papyrus exclaimed triumphantly.

She looked down and saw that she was, indeed, bluer than usual.

Was this really happening?

When she tried to rise, she found that it had actually done something after all; her body felt heavier, like it was being forced down. He was trying to keep her from leaving. But she saw how he had moved his attacks.

"Papyrus," she turned to face him, voice amplified. "You don't really want to fight, do you?"

"IT IS MY DUTY TO APPREHEND YOU, JUST AS YOUR IS –"

"Papyrus."

" . . . I MEAN, I WANT TO _CAPTURE_ YOU, AND THEN I'LL BE POPULAR AND HAVE LOTS OF FRIENDS!"

" . . . I consider you a friend." And it was true. He _was_ cool. She'd never gotten to play puzzles before, with anyone. It was . . . nice, to have fun.

"REALLY?!" Papyrus cried out. "WELL, I DO TOO! AND I . . . I CAN'T HURT MY FRIEND. BUT WHAT ABOUT – "

He was cut off midsentence by the sudden destruction of his skull in a puff of white, the pieces fracturing and scattering into the wind as they cumbled to dusts with the rest of him. The thundercrack followed right after, that signature sound of a 12.7×99mm penetrator that Frisk knew by heart. She looked back, eye drawn up to a snowy hill – there.

Her visor zoomed in on the glint and the smoke, outlined the silhouette buried under the snow. The piles fell away as she rose, shaking off the snow, green and yellow armor against the white.

Chara had made it. She knew Frisk had seen her, gave a wave and an upward tilt of the head before starting to descend, sliding down the hill. Frisk raised one hand, acknowledging her before glancing back at Papyrus' remains. There was only an ash-covered pile of armor and clothes, his red scarf crumpled. Frisk didn't know how to feel, how to describe how she felt. She was happy, so happy she wanted to shout; Chara had made it! She was alive, Chara had found her! Even after all of the fire and death, they were together again, imseparable. Everything would be okay now.

And yet . . .

She felt the lump that had been in her throat turn into a stone in her stomach. This was what she'd been hoping to avoid. Fighting, desperately to avoid. And now he was dead. Her friend. Even as she wanted to jump for joy, she felt the pressure behind her eyes. Even as she wanted to cry out for Chara, she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. But she did none of those things, just stared at the pile of dust.

So much for her promise to Sans.

She stood there, staring, until she heard the crunch of boots and turned to see Chara approaching. She was bruised and cut, her helmet gone and replaced with some kind of purple hood, and her hair was matted with blood, armor scorched, but she was _here,_ and she was alive. Frisk tore her helmet off, striding forward and embracing her sister tightly, not wanting to let go.

"Whoa, Frisk, Frisk, I missed you too!" Chara holstered her rifle, the barrel sticking over her shoulder like an antenna, and grabbed Frisk back, squeezed tight. "I told you I'd never leave you."

"Chara!" Frisk pressed her forehead to Chara's as she cried out. "I was so worried, I couldn't find you! Are you okay, what happened?"

"I'm fine, you big baby," Chara scoffed with a wry grin, tapping on her head. "Got a hard skull. Saved me when I lost my helmet in the fall. That's why I couldn't contact you. Looks like I still got it even with naked eyes, though," she slung an arm around Frisk, pointing over at the scarf in the dust. "You okay? You don't look hit . . ." Chara gave her a once-over.

" . . . I'm fine," Frisk sombered up upon seeing the remains once more, her joy fading with the flakes on the wind.

"Hey. You can't fool me. Talk."

" . . . he was my friend."

"Who? The skeleton?"

"His name was Papyrus," Frisk nodded. "He was . . . nice."

"Oh, Frisk," Chara ran a hand over Frisk's hand, through her hair before grabbing her shoulders gently, looking her straight in the eyes. "Frisk, partner. I don't know what he told you, but they tried to pal it up with me, too. It's a trick. They want to kill us – "

"For our souls. I know about Asgore," Frisk interrupted.

"Oh. Great, that makes this much easier," Chara let go of Frisk, taking a step back. "Absent of SPECCOM, I prioritized Asgore and his race of monsters as secondary threats. They threaten humanity if left unchecked; first priority is to regroup with the Force, move to Oceana, but if we can break their command structure, we do it."

"But they're unarmed. Unaware. They don't even know about the Authority," Frisk protested. "Why do we need to kill them?"

"Because they're a _threat_ ," Chara emphasized. "They're all armed, just with magic bullshit. We can't win a war on two fronts. You _know_ I'm right."

"But . . ."

"Frisk," Chara took Frisk's hand in hers, her voice softening. "You're sweet. Kind. I know you mean well. But remember training? Remember what happens when you're soft?" Frisk remembered well. She hadn't taken as . . . easily to violence as Chara had. So her trainers had helped.

"We do our job, we make it out alive. Trust me on this."

"I trust you, Chara," Frisk squeezed Chara's hand. No matter how bad it had gotten, no matter what, Chara had always, _always_ been there. "Of course I trust you."

"I know," Chara brought Frisk in for another hug. "We'll get through this. But we need to stick together. You and me, Frisk."

"Forever," Frisk nodded. They pulled back, looking at each other for a brief moment before Chara clapped Frisk on the shoulder and stepped away.

"We'll try to avoid it if we can, but we'll do what we have to do," Chara looked down the path. "We should get going. A shorter skeleton went in to investigate the Ruins after I left; I rigged a tripwire, but he must have seen it if it hasn't gone off by now."

"That's Sans," Frisk closed her eyes. It hurt to think of him coming here. "He can teleport."

"Seriously?" Chara asked, raising an eyebrow. When Frisk nodded in response, she just shooked her head, muttering about how unfair that was.

"We'd better get moving, then. Not hard to follow my trail, so he'll be right on us, and we've a long road ahead," Chara unslung her sniper rifle and started down towards the edge of the forest. Frisk lingered for just a moment, gazing back at Snowdin, at the peaceful, quiet little town. It would never be the same, now. Because of them.

"Sans, Papyrus. I'm sorry," Frisk whispered, before turning to follow Chara, rifle in hand.

It had been a nice dream.


End file.
